A to Z on Goode Babies
by Daysi5
Summary: Twenty-six chapters on how Cammie and Zach will deal with their children and every day life. Read and review! Rated T, cause I can.I don't own this series. New characters collide with the old ones. Ch.9: Induced Memories
1. Abortion?

A/N::: I actually just had this sitting in my documents, an idea I had (apparently) a while back ago. It's a start, isn't it?

Enjoy and review!

CH. 1

_Abortion?_

Cammie pov

I stare down at my deformed six pack abs, afraid of what they'll become in the next nine months. I can see a little lump forming, but it wasn't obviously noticeable; it just looked like I put on a few pounds (which isn't very enticing, either).

"Damn you Zach Goode," I mutter, cursing the father of my child. I was only twenty-three and the peak of my career. Zach and I had gotten married when I was twenty-one. It may seem weird, swearing on God to spend the REST of my life with him at an early age, but in the spy world, time is a luxury that we aren't guaranteed. Ever since then, we'd only been six months apart, at the most, but other than that, we've been together most of the time.

He was away now on a two week mission but he was returning today, in about three hours and thirty-five minutes.

He doesn't know if you're wondering. I barely found out yesterday after puking my guts out in the toilet and have been hyperventilating and freaking out ever since. I don't want to have a kid, honestly. It's way too soon, and I still have the rest of my life to have a kid. But now there was no avoiding it. Apparently we weren't careful enough, and now I was stuck with a lump in my stomach.

Maybe I was being too calm about it; or maybe I just didn't care, but this kid was not something I had planned. When I was thirteen I had mapped out my life; 18-23, travel around the world on missions and exploit at LEAST thirty drug dealers, 24-26, try and find someone to get together with (apparently that was moved down), 27-30, live a happy carefree life, 31-40, slow down a bit on life but still get a kick out of ruining diabolical plans and risking my life.

Now, where, on that short list, did you see HAVE CHILDREN WITH ZACH GOODE? Nowhere, that's where. Because I did not plan it! I wanted to grow old, kick some ass and enjoy a husband, but nope. Apparently, fate had other plans.

I walk up to the wall length mirror next to me and examine my profile. "Oh god," I whisper. "I'm fat." I realize now that I was over dramatizing. The sweats I wore hid the bump, but the muscle shirt of Zach that I wore outlined it more. It was only noticeable if you were looking at it, though.

"How am I going to tell him?" I mutter, pacing. I stop, suddenly feeling feverish. "Oh god!" I put a hand to my mouth and run to the bathroom. I barely make it before spewing my guts out. At the very least, I knew I had just lost a few pounds.

* * *

I manage to avoid any topics concerning my health through his arrival, but sitting here, watching him make dinner, I suddenly become interested in playing my own thumb-war with my own thumbs.

"So Cammie how were you while I was in Pakistan?" he glances away from the stove, stirring the vegetables subconsciously as he looks at me, and I know he knows something's up. But I can't tell him. What if he doesn't want a child and runs away? I wouldn't be able to bare it. Or what if he wants the baby, and we have mixed feelings about it? Oh god, I can't do this!

_What are you talking about? You're a Morgan! Morgans don't chicken out you wimp! _Ahh, there's my lulling voice of reason (usually voice of danger).

I take a deep breath. "Zach… I'm pregnant." I let my head drop, unable to face him. I clench my inter-laced hands until it hurts. I clench my jaw as my heart beats roughly, the silence unbearable. And silence makes me nervous. Nervous Cammie equals, yes, you guessed it, a ranting Morgan.

"I don't know how it happened, I swear. I mean, when you left I was totally and not feverish. But then, just recently, I started vomiting and feeling really sick. I mean, I was throwing up left and right without warning. I even puked on the floor a couple of times, actually. No one knows, in case you're wondering—"

"Cammie," he tried to say, but my mouth was nonstop.

"I mean, when I found out, I was shocked. Not shocked in a good shocked, but appalled, really. Oh! I didn't mean it was a bad shock either. It was just like a thousand bolts kind of shock. Not that I don't want to have your kids, though, but it's just that we're young and we make mistakes too, you know. Spies aren't perfect even though we're really good at most things like killing people or shooting them or aiming at them. Not that I enjoy that, but it's just something that needs to be done, you know? And I was thinking that we're not ready for a kid. It'd be too dangerous, and—and what if one of us doesn't come back from a mission?" I felt my eyes starts to tear up. "What if the other one was left to raise the kid on their own?" Before I can stop, I'm blurting out the truth. "What if you or me…. What if one of us leaves and doesn't come back, just like my dad? I knew it was tough on my mom, having to raise me by herself while dealing with the whole spy thing and grieving over her lost husband. And I… I don't want that to happen to us." My vision is blurred; my stomach is churning, and I'm pretty sure I have a strange craving for frog legs.

"What does this have anything to do with the fact that you're pregnant with my child? Wait, it is my kid, right?" I growled and he ducked as a knife flew past his head. He smirks, despite the small spikes of hair that got cut off. "Just making sure." He comes to the table his demeanor different, wiping away my tears and letting me calm down.

"How can you joke about something like that at a time like this?" I whisper, even though I'm relieved as well. He had taken it surprisingly well. I had expected him to start grilling me with questions. But apparently, that wasn't his ideal method.

"You haven't answered my question," he says quietly. "What does not coming back from a mission have to do with having a kid."

"I don't want a kid," I manage.

"Why not?"

"I—I don't want to be left alone with a baby if you don't return from a mission."

He stares at me for a long time. "So what are you suggesting?"

I look away from him, unable to see his judgmental expression. I take deep breaths before turning back reluctantly.

"I think we should think about abortion." Once the word is out, I know hell was going to break loose.

"Out of the question." Zach says immediately, his voice hard and empty of doubt.

"At least think about—"

"No. I am not going to even _consider _killing my own blood and flesh." His green eyes turn back to me, their hard shell gone. "And neither should you."

"But we're not ready for this, Zach! I just got a promotion, and you're busy with missions—"

"We'll make it work, Cammie. We can be the best damn parents the CIA has ever seen. I mean, we wouldn't be on our own, either. You've got Bex, Liz and Macey to help you out, and your mom, too. We can do this, Cammie." His excited and determined eyes make my ideas waver. But it's not enough to erase the fear. And I know it shows in my eyes, because then he says "And if anything were to happen to either one us, we'd persevere, because we'd want that. But I doubt that's going to happen. I mean, we're the Goode family, remember?" His confident grin helps me make up my mind.

"Fine," I mutter, wiping away stray tears. "But I swear, if you don't come back…" I trail off, not wanting to finish.

"You'll kick my ass. Yes, yes. You also said that when I first made a move on you. You Morgans and your empty threats." I raise a skeptical eyebrow.

"Empty? Did you not find a shoe mark on your ass when you woke up the next morning?"

"How would I know? For all I know, you could've made a move on me." I roll my eyes at this. "I know you find me irresistible, Cammie Morgan. They all do." I narrow my eyes at this.

"They?"

"Oh, um, I meant the women at the stores where we, uh, shop."

"Huh," I muse. I finger the fork beside me. "Care to elaborate?"

"You know, does it really matter? None of them can compare to you, sweetheart. You're my little Gallagher Girl." He lets out a nervous laugh.

"Yeah well, we'll see who your sweetheart is when you have to sleep on the couch tonight." I get up and stomp away, ignoring his pleas of "just getting back from a lonely two week trip." Pft, men.

* * *

A/N::: Good? Bad? You want to know the title of the next chap? Too bad =) It's a surprise!

Unless, of course you review and just oh so happen to ask, then I might tell you =3

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	2. Berceuse

A/N::: Somehow, this turned into a semi song-fic -.-" I'm sorry, I know this is late, but I couldn't think of much, an this weeks been hectic. Thanks for hanging on =/

Disclaimer::: I don't own the song or the G-Girl series. Never have, never will.

Song::: Lullaby- The Spill Canvas

Ch. 2

Berceuse:

a lullaby or cradlesong

Cammie POV

I felt the first sign of movement while watching TV.

I was in my third month of pregnancy, watching Maury. It was weird, actually. I never was the type to watch a show full of over dramatized drama, but ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've gotten an undeniable urge to watch people go at it.

I had already informed my family and friends, and they were just getting over the shock and death threats (to Zach). I was lazing on the couch, an empty bag of M&Ms at my feet, when I felt my stomach lurch.

"Whoa!" The remote flew from my hands where it hit the coffee table with a clunk. "Holy mother of all that is holy," I gasp, feeling like something was trying to kick its way out of my stomach, "this kid is _kicking _me!" I yell, loud enough for Zach to hear from the kitchen. "It's kicking me!"

He appeared seconds later, wiping his hands on a rag. "Cammie, what's wrong?"

"This kid!" I replied, hysterical. "It just kicked me! Out of nowhere! For no reason at all!" I pointed at my small, round stomach, shocked.

Zach smirked, sitting beside me. "Hon, that's normal. Haven't you read any of the books Liz got you?" We both looked towards the pile of books, all with the word "baby" somewhere on it, in a neat, untouched stack. Zach sighed. "What a waste," he muttered.

"Excuse me! You're not the one with a kicking _person _inside of you!" I shoved him away, and he gave me a look of hurt, holding his shoulder.

"That hurt, Gallagher Girl." I couldn't take him seriously because he was grinning. And just when I thought the kid had stopped, the feeling of something trying to kick its way out of me starts again.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" I don't know what to do, so I clutch Zach's arm, hard. He winces, but doesn't move away.

"It's okay, Gallagher Girl, it's okay," he breathes, but he himself seems panicked, which makes me freak even more. "Uh, ah, just stay calm! Um, if we just stay calm, maybe it'll go away!"

"This isn't some feral animal, Zach! This is your kid!" I yell, the movement unyielding. I don't know why I'm freaking out. Maybe because the idea of a baby, an innocent _life, _still scares me. Or maybe because I don't know what will become of the tiny life. Or maybe because I'm just not used to _having a tiny person inside of me. _Yeah, I think maybe that's it.

"And so now I'm to blame!" I hear Zach mutter, as his hands hover over my stomach. But then he quickly pulls them back, afraid that his hands, hands that were trained to kill, might somehow affect the being inside of me. "You have to stay calm, Cammie," he soothes. "The baby might sense your panic; find your Zen place and breathe." I do what he says, images flashing through my mind as I suck in shuddering breaths. Images of our honeymoon on Bahamas beaches, scaling the Eiffel Tower, hurling towards the earth at breakneck speed.

And out of some old memories, my mind conjures images of my younger days at Gallagher. The four of us, Macey, Bex, Liz and me traveling through the hidden passageways of Gallagher, finding its secrets and underlying meanings. Zach and me, staring at each other the night of the first ballroom exam in a hidden tunnel.

I can feel my heartbeat slow down; can hear my once panicked breaths slowing to intervals. I can here Zach heave a sigh beside me, chuckling nervously. I open my eyes, only to see him staring off at something that I couldn't see.

"Zach?" I whisper. He doesn't respond, so I reach for his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. He looks at me, his gaze anxious and unsure.

"We'll be okay, Zach," I mumble. Once the adrenaline disappears, I feel suddenly drained. My eyelids droop despite my best efforts to stay conscious. "We'll be okay," I repeat, managing a last weak squeeze before my eyes flutter shut. I feel a butterfly touch my forehead; a quick brush and then it's gone, along with everything else.

* * *

It's been a week since the incident. Zach refuses to acknowledge it, brushing me off when ever I try to tell him that being afraid to touch his own child isn't a bad thing. As spies, we're paranoid that everything we touch can be a lethal weapon. Because that's what we grew up, learning to kill and survive for our country. A simple magazine can be rammed down a person's throat; a pen can be used to slit a throat. And our hands? Liz wrote a list of over two hundred ways to kill someone with just our hands and body.

She says it's still not even halfway finished.

So I don't blame Zach for being afraid to touch my stomach. I'm afraid too, sometimes. But he's been avoiding me and acting as if nothing's wrong, disappearing sometimes for hours despite the fact that he now has a more flexible schedule until the baby's born (he insisted before that he'd be the one to drive like hell once the baby was about to "drop"). But now he just disappears all afternoon, only coming home to make dinner, make sure I eat, and usually disappears again. Until today. Today this stops. I'll make sure of it.

"So how's your mom?" he asks nonchalantly, washing our dishes, despite already cooking. I'm only three and a half months pregnant, but he's still all husband-y, not letting me on my new hideous _kankles_ unless it's to move from the couch, table, and bed. I have to tell him to let me pee on my own, but even then he waits at the door, unless he isn't around.

"Well, she's stopped pestering me about letting her give you a good smack," I snort. I watch him carefully as I speak, noting every pause or twitch. "You know, she's been meaning to talk to you, actually. But every time she calls, I have to tell her you're out, because… well, because you go out. When she asks where, I have to tell her that you're on a mission or at the office, filling out a late report." He finishes the dishes, continuing to dry them. He doesn't speak, so I take this as a "continue" sign. "Grant called today, actually. He seems to be doing fine, being at home and watching Alex while Bex is off in Russia on a mission."

"Just like Rebecca to rip the pants off of Grant forcefully," he comments. He slows down his pace, taking his time to dry off the plates.

"He asked for you, actually, of course. He said something about competing in parkour at the park?"

"Aw hell," he blurts. "I forgot that I had to meet up with him today. When did he call?"

"Around six-ish, maybe."

Zach sighs, drying his hands, his back still to me. "I guess ill just have to reschedule later, then." He turns to leave, but I stop him, using my advantage of being near the entrance to block it.

"We need to talk," I say seriously. He takes a step back, raising an eyebrow. And then smirks.

"No need to be so dramatic, Cameron." Without looking away, he sits down in a chair lightly, interlacing his hands and resting his chin on them. "So talk, hon."

I dig my nail to keep my anger intact. Zach has always had an unnatural fetish to annoy me. I sit across from him, staring him down.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I have not."

"You leave every afternoon, you hardly ever speak. Even now, you're looking everywhere but at me," I hiss angrily. I feel betrayal and anger rush through me. This is what you get for pissing off a pregnant woman. "Are you seeing someone else? Are you only still here for this kid? 'Cause if that's it, than leave. I rather raise this kid on my own than with someone who doesn't care!" Even through my blurry vision, I can sense his surprise.

"You think… I'm_ seeing_ someone else?" There's a hint of humor in his voice.

"What am I _supposed_ to think!" I yell, hysterical. "You disappear without a word, you come home all broody and quiet, and I don't know WHAT to think!" I bury my face in my hands, trying to tell him that I'm afraid of this kid and in reality, afraid of losing him and having to raise a BABY on my own. My own sobs seem loud and shuddering to my own ears, but I can't seem to stop. I'm finally able to release all my frustration and confusion, knowing that whatever happens, one way or another Zach will know what to do.

"Cammie…" I hear Zach whisper. I feel him tugging at my wrists lightly, as if to pull my hands away, but I refuse. I don't want to see the pity and satisfaction on his face when he tells me he has a new lover. I don't want to know about the other family, he's chosen. Maybe _she _isn't being hunted by an ancient terrorist group. Maybe she's safe and simple, or maybe she's a spy like me. Or maybe she's an assassin he met on a mission, and they fell in love at first sight, like Mr. and Mrs. Smith. God, I hate that movie, now that I think about it.

"Do you really want to now what I've been up to?" he mutters quietly. By now, the tears have dried and my sobs have stopped. But I still don't want to look at the second guy ever to break my heart. "Do you?"

"Of course I don't," I whisper numbly, almost bitterly. "I've just brought this up to cause a scene and make you hate me more."

"More? I don't hate you, Cammie. Cammie, look at me." I don't but he forces my chin up, and I conjure my best Morgan glare to stare at him. "I don't hate you, Cammie. I could never hate you. Or our kid," he adds. He sighs, and seems to make his mind up about something, because he stands, still holding onto my wrist. He tugs, but I refuse to stand. He sighs. "Don't make me carry you to the car, Cammie," he threatens. I get up because if it isn't bad enough that my heart's beating fast because he's holding my wrist, I don't know what'll happen if he carries me.

We're in our Camry without a word, Zach driving, of course. I press myself against the door, trying to get as far away as I can from the man I love in such a confined space. The cold glass feels nice against my hot cheek as we speed through the winding roads. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy to smooth, quiet ride.

Is he going to show me their flat? Or is he going to humiliate me by having her parents there? What if other people know? What if I'm the only one being left in the dark, wondering, while everyone around me knows and pities me silently? Just the thought of Zach's betrayals makes my throat burn and tears stream down my cheek relentlessly. Why can't he make this painless? Why is he dragging this out? What did I do that was so bad that he needs to torture me like this?

Before I know it, lost in my own turmoil thoughts, the engine cuts, and Zach hops out to open my door. I ignore his held out hand, managing to uncomfortably touch the ground. I look at the small, wooden lit building in front of me, expecting a house. Instead, I see a sign over the building, the setting sun reflecting onto it.

"What are we doing at Palumba's Piano Store?" I ask, completely confused. Where's the beautiful idealistic lover and cozy home?

"I'm showing you what I do with my spare time," he responds vaguely. He takes my hand, and I don't refuse, simply dazed in wonderment.

"Ms. Palumba?" Zach calls out once we're inside. There are expensive pianos scattered everywhere, along with the occasional keyboard. An elderly woman appears from a back room, smiling warmly at Zach.

"Zachary dear! You're here early!" She engulfs him in a tight hug, forcing Zach to let go of my hand. "You left in such a hurry this afternoon, I was worried that I'd said something wrong!" She stretches his cheeks like a grandmother would do; kissing his cheeks where she'd just pinched them. He blushes when he sees me smiling at him, ready to make a joke.

"This is Cammie, Ms. Palumba," Zach says hastily, rubbing his sore cheeks, "my pregnant wife," he adds. Before I know it, she's hugging me as well, taking care to not press my slightly bulging stomach.

"Oh! What a beautiful young lady! Just like you said, Zachary!" it's my turn to blush as she examines me, making Oh and Ah noises as she inspects my growing stomach.

"You certainly got lucky, Zachary dear," she says, winking at me. I smile politely, still confused.

"Thank you," I manage. I glance at Zach, who's looking around for something. "Ms. Palumba?" I say quietly while Zach seems to not be paying attention. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course dear."

"How is it that you know Zach?" She smiles.

"He comes here everyday and practices playing the piano. Actually, he just—"

"Can we borrow a room?" Zach interrupts. "If it isn't a problem of course."

"Of course not, dear!" She pulls out a set of keys, holding out a gold one. "I'll let you use the Steinway today." Zach's eyes widen.

"Really?"

Ms. Palumba winks. "You've earned it, Zach. Go ahead." She holds it out, and he holds it carefully.

"Thank you. I'll be careful, I promise."

"I know you will." She leaves, heading towards the cashier register.

"Come on, Cammie. I have to show you something." He grabs my hand, and I decide that even though I don't know what's going on, I might as well stay open-minded as to how I feel towards Zach.

We go down a hall, passing closed doors, some with tinkling noises coming from behind them. "I've been working on something all weeklong, ever since the incident with the baby, Cammie, and I found this store," Zach says. We reach the last one on the last one on the left, and Zach opens it excitedly, like a kid on Christmas. "I got an idea while I was checking out the pianos and signed myself up for a few classes." He opens the door, and it's completely dark. He flicks on the light, and I see an intricate looking piano sitting elegantly in the middle of the room, looking delicate. Without thinking, I walk towards it, lulled by the beauty. I pass my hand across the top, feeling the smooth wood underneath my fingers. I tap a key and flinch at the low, resonating sound.

"It's beautiful," I whisper. Zach beams.

"I haven't played on this one yet," Zach admits, sitting on the leather bench. "But I've been practicing for a while, and I think I've got the song down." He plays a few notes expertly, and I feel a warm feeling fill my body. Just hearing him play a few notes sounds angelic.

He takes a deep breath, sits straight, before playing a song I've never heard.

It's so melodic, so heartwarming, I feel myself sinking slowly, carefully to the ground. Every key he hits, every note he plays, makes my heart beat hard, makes the tears flow down my cheek relentlessly.

And then he starts to sing.

_It's the way that you blush when you're nervous._

_It's your ability to make me earn this._

_ I know that you're tired, just let me sing you to sleep._

I don't know what else to do but cry out of joy. I want to hug and kiss him and tell him I love him, but I'm too paralyzed to.

_If you need anything, just the say the word._

_I mean anything._

_Rest assured, if you start to doze, then I'll tuck you in,_

_ and plant my lips where your necklaces close._

_While you were sleeping I figured out everything,_

_I was constructed for you, and you were molded for me._

_Now I feel your name, coursing through my veins._

_ You shine so bright it's insane, you put the sun to shame._

I can't help but laugh and cry. Did Zach really do all of this? For me? I could ask him, or try to, but I want to listen to him play, listen to him sing me to sleep.

_If you need anything, just the say the word._

_I mean anything._

_Rest assured, if you start to doze, then I'll tuck you in,_

_ and plant my lips where your necklaces close._

He presses the last keys, and I can see he's sweating. He rubs his palms against his jeans, breathing hard. His face is flushed, his hair a mess. And yet I can't help but think he's beautiful.

"What do you think, Cammie?" His voice is soft and quiet in this loud room. He finally looks at me, and sees the tears. "Oh Cammie, I didn't mean to make you cry. Please, no more tears." He gets down on his knees beside me, rubbing away the tears that fall. "It's supposed to comfort you when the idea of having the baby scares you. Please, please don't cry Cammie."

"Zach," I choke out. Before he can speak, I wrap my arms around him tightly, sobs escaping me. "I love you," I whisper into his ears. "I love you so much."

"So you're not mad?" he mutters, his arms holding me.

I kiss him long and hard. "Does that answer your question Goode?"

He smirks. "Yes, it does."

* * *

A/N::: tried to get this done in one night. I'll face the consequences tomorrow morning .

Anyways, review!


	3. Cantankerous

A/N::: Happy Turkey Day peeps :D

Enjoy!

Cantankerous—

disagreeable to deal with;

Four months later

I stormed into the kitchen, stomping my feet as loud as I could, what with my big lump of a stomach of seven months in the way. "Zach!" I yelled, even though he was a few paces away, bent over as he searched for something in the fridge. "Where. Are. My. M. And. Ms!" I always had a bag of peanut M&Ms at my bedside table to pop in my mouth when I wake up.

Well, it's twelve p.m., my new rising time, and what did I find? An empty bag of M&Ms. I didn't even go to the bathroom to wash up. So believe me when I say I know what my appearance was like; bed head frizzy hair, dark circle under my eyes, my fat kankles sticking out of my boot cut pregnancy pjs, and breath that tasted like paper (which I remember falling asleep on).

But Zach was calm, smiling when he looked at me, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Hey there Sunshine. You're up pretty late, don't you think?" Of course I knew it was late. But I don't care. I stopped caring months ago.

"My M&Ms," I said through gritted teeth, "Where are they." It wasn't a question.

He sighed, which he seemed to be doing more often, putting the eggs and bacon on the counter. "I'm sorry, hon. I forgot to pick some up at the store last night." He leans back against the counter nonchalantly, crossing him arms like it's no big deal that he forgot my favorite candy, one of my few cravings. Zach's _whatever _attitude has always annoyed me, but half the time, it was a part of him I loved. Well, right now, it was the former.

"You forgot my candy?" I asked, confused. I still couldn't get how Zach, who was once ranked the number one assassin in the western hemisphere when he was still in the business, could forget his moody pregnant wife's candy at Wal-Mart.

"I'm sorry, Cammie. It just slipped my mind."

"So me being pregnant just _slipped _your mind?"

"What? No. How did you get to that conclusion?"

"The fact that you forgot my M&Ms!" I yelled, even though I knew it was unfair of me. I knew he has to work late at the CIA offices, now that he decided to not take on missions. He has the worst hours as well, going in around five p.m. every day and coming home at three a.m. I'm usually awake by then, but I guess they have him writing reports he's ignored because he's always tired and cranky. I fell asleep last night, keeping my memory fresh of codes that I needed to know incase I was ever in the situation where I could only send a message (hence the paper-breath), so I guess I didn't here Zach come in.

Still, he had promised to stop at the store before coming home, so I had finished off the rest of the bag. And now, I was M&M-less. But he was probably completely wiped out, to have forgotten about my M&Ms.

I sighed, all angry emotions flowing out of me, my mind suddenly clearer (I was never a morning person).

"I'm sorry, Zach. I know how hard you've been working and I just…" I suddenly felt so helpless, so useless that all I was good for was yelling at my husband and ranting about candy.

"Cammie, don't cry," Zach blurted, but it was too late; the water works were already flowing. I was making short, whimpering noises that sounded like someone was kicking a dog, but I couldn't help it. I just had a sudden urge to cry. Zach was by my side, breakfast forgotten. His arms were already around me, and I embraced him as much as I could.

"Don't hate me, Zach," I whispered/sobbed. My tears were soaking his shirt; my snot-filled nose was threatening to join the tears.

He chuckled, the deep sound making his rib cage vibrate. "Again with this crap. Cammie, what gave you the slightest idea that I could ever hate you? I love you so much, it hurts me watching you like this, angry one moment and crying the next and not knowing what to do." I pulled away slightly, enough so that I could see his face. I gave him a pleading look, one he's come to interpret. He smiles slightly before lulling me with his voice, our eyes still locked, as he brushes away stray tears. His soft (believe it or not) voice filled the seemingly empty kitchen, and I buried my head into his chest, listening to his pacing heartbeat match his voice.

The tears were gone by the time he stopped, as were the sniffles. "Thank you, Zach," I whispered.

"Anything for you, Cameron." He kissed my hair, and it seemed that, just for that instant, time froze as we were locked in an embrace, and I cherished the sensation of never having to let him go.

* * *

Ever since our moment a week ago, we've ceased to have any incidents where I would run rampage, followed by bursting into tears. I've been close to a random breakdown, but Zach would always be there, lulling me immediately with his voice. It was dreamy, almost. To have the man of my dreams be by my side at every sniffle, cough or whimper.

So when I almost broke down while watching Happy Feet, tears threatening to fall because Mumble was about to become bird food (despite the fact that I've watched this movie before), Zach shot out of the bathroom, a towel the only thing he wore around his waist from the shower he'd just taken.

I sniffled, surprised at how he suddenly knew. "Did you hear me?"

He frowned, realizing that he had came in the nick of time. "Actually, I don't know. I just felt that you needed me, is all." Despite the fact that I've seen Zach fully naked (hence the baby lump) as well as at his worse, I couldn't get over how… perfect he was. His chest was bronze and muscular, scars splashed here and there from getting too cocky. And yet, he hadn't let any of it hold him back or burden him, seeing as he continued to put his life on the line for his country. He stood proud and tall, fearing nothing. And call me insane, but the sun was perfectly set behind him so that he stood in all his glory, his every physical asset shining. Except, as I studied his perfectly chiseled, angular face, I noticed something was off… Wait. Was… was Zach _crying? _

"Are you crying?" I blurted. No way could it be true. But his eyes were watery and red.

He looked taken back. "What? No. Why?"

"Your eyes. They're all red and watery. Did you get soap in your eyes? Or too much water?"

"Not that I can recall." He sat down next to me, blinking to clear his eyes. "Although, now that you mention it, my eyes do feel irritated."

I smirked, using his own weapon against him. "It's okay to cry, Zachy. I won't tell." I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Har har, Cammie. But I don't cry. _Men _don't cry."

I raised an eyebrow. "Or really? Remember that one time, we were in Spain and—" He stood abruptly, unwilling to hear the story when he almost shed a tear.

"Well, if you're fine enough to tell a story, then I'll go get dressed."

"Aw, but I like seeing you half naked," I teased.

He faked exasperation, sighing. "I know you do. That's why it's your everyday struggle to keep your hands off me. Please Cammie, I don't do autographs." He smirked; cockiness was always his strength. He left me laughing, immune to his arrogance. It was one of the reasons I loved him.

* * *

When it happened, I don't know exactly what was running through my mind. This past week's been unusual, since I called Zach out for tearing up. My extreme emotions seem to have run dry, my pregnancy symptoms disappearing almost all together, despite the fact that I was eight months pregnant.

It started when Zach through up. At 2 a.m. in the morning. Which, actually, used to be around the time I puked my guts out. But I was woken up by the sound of Zach retching. I was having a nightmare about losing Zach, so I burst into the bathroom, afraid to find him dying or dead.

"Zach!" I cried. He was keeled over the porcelain toilet bowl, pale and shaken. I took a step forward, but he held up a shaking palm, warding me off.

"Don't, Cam," he breathed. "I might've caught a bug, is all. It might affect you. Just go—" before he could finish, his face was already halfway in the bowl, vomiting. He wiped his mouth with a shaking arm, almost convulsing. "I'm f-fine."

"Don't you lie to me, Zach." But I knew he was right; half right, at least. If he'd caught a flu, it might affect the baby, if it gets to me. I walk out of the bathroom, determined to help in any way I could.

By the time, Zach made it to the kitchen, I had already made the tea and soaked a towel in lukewarm water. I led him to the couch, ordering him to lie down.

"My mother said chamomile was good for the throat. Here, drink. Wait, sit up, you'll burn yourself if you drink it lying down." When he managed a sitting position, I held the cup to his lips, his clammy hands unable to hold it. After I forced him to drain two cups, I made him lie back down, mopping his cold forehead with the rag.

"Oh Zach," I sighed, "how could you get sick so suddenly?"

His eyes were closed. I thought he was asleep, but then he responded. "I don't know, Cam. I just felt… I don't know, horrible. I feel so drained and irritable." He chuckled, the low deep voice giving me some relief. At least he was still Zach. "It's as if I took on your pregnancy symptoms." I froze, the phrase striking something in my mind. "Cammie?" I was struggling to remember something. "Cammie, are you okay?" It flickered, teasing my mind, a tickling memory….

"House!" I blurted. The awkward silence that followed was accompanied by the strange look Zach managed to shoot at me. I quickly tried to explain. "I was watching a House marathon, and there was this one episode where a man was feeling his pregnant wife's symptoms. He was puking, and his stomach was acting up, and he was cranky all the time."

"Impossible," Zach said immediately. "There's no way I can be feeling your pregnancy symptoms. I am a man, and men do not experience things that are not natural. It just isn't logical."

"That's what I said, too," I replied. "So I Googled it."

"You _Googled_ it? That's mistake number one, Cam. You can't rely on _Google—" _

"Well I did," I cut in. "And some lady on Yahoo was asking if it was normal for her husband to be feeling what _she _should be feeling and someone else replied that it was."

"You can't rely on only that."

"I didn't. I called up Liz, and she said it was theoretically possible."

"_Theoretically_," he shot.

"_Possible," _I argued.

"Do you hear yourself, Cam? You're claiming that I, Zach Goode, your loving and loyal husband, is having your pregnancy symptoms."

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's a possibility," I say and add "not what's happening" before he can object. He opens his mouth, but then closes it. He lets out a loud breath, closing his eyes.

"Alright. Say I am having your pregnancy symptoms. Are there any remedies?"

It was my turn to be exasperated. "What makes you think so? You can't just drink some holy juice and not feel pregnant. If so, women wouldn't be so reluctant to be pregnant. Can you imagine what the world would be like? Women blissful and as high as clouds. Husbands wouldn't have to fear their wives. It would be paradise, but then again, where's the fun in that? Zach? Are you list—" I stopped short, noting his labored breaths, the steady rise and fall of his chest. I smiled, getting up to find a blanket. When I returned, he was still sleeping. I covered him as best as I could, made sure he was comfortable and planted a small kiss on his forehead, whispering "Night Zach" before heading to our room where I crashed for the night.

* * *

We were sitting side by side, Zach wrapped in a blanket, me sitting precariously, and making sure I wasn't somehow damaging the baby, when the second occurrence occurred.

We were watching Inglourious Basterds, and we were at the part where Shosanna, the owner of the movie theatres hosting all the Nazis, shot and thought she killed Private Zoller. The tragic music was playing, and when she heard him groan and checked on him, he shot her in the chest multiple times. I was torn; she was my favorite female protagonist, and yet she got killed. But when I looked over at Zach, I had to do a double take.

"Zach, are you _crying?" _I said, the second time this month. He had such a heartbroken look on his face, his eyes despairingly sad.

"No," he grumbled, turning away. "I just think it's… it's pathetic how she didn't make sure he was did, is all. My eyes aren't tearing up from the fact that he wanted her and she just shot him."

"He didn't love her, Zach," I said softly.

"But he wanted to give her whatever she needed."

"He was just going to use her."

"No, he wasn't."

"But Zach, didn't you hear him? He said he _wasn't a man you say no to." _I shook my head, disgusted by the character's words. "He probably just wanted to have sex with her and then leave her."

"Not all guys want just sex!" Zach yelled. I was so shocked at his sudden outburst of anger, I flushed, my mouth open.

"I-I'm sorry, Zach. I didn't mean to say that."

He sighed, anger still evident on his face. "Forget it. You'll never understand." And then he just walked out of the room without a glance or apology. He just left.

I stared after him for a second. _Huh, _I thought, _is that how I was when I was moody? _I thought back to that morning I accused him for forgetting my M&Ms. And then after that, all my sudden tearful moments. I shrugged, my attention back on the movie. _I'll give him some time. _

One Week Later

I woke up around 8, only to find the other side of the bed messy and unmade. Zach had decided to sleep in our bed, after all. I climbed out of bed slowly, every move slow and calculated. I wobbled my way to the kitchen, yawning, and was surprised when I smelled bacon and eggs, the familiar sound of bacon sizzling invading my ears. I had left Zach to his own devices for about a week, and he had spent the nights sleeping on the couch.

When I asked him to stop avoiding, he admitted that he didn't want to get mad at me for no apparent reason, so he rather get over it quickly than let me suffer the consequences. He didn't give me much of a choice, so I agreed.

But he hadn't made breakfast, thought, since forever ago, or at least that's what it feels like. When I got the kitchen entrance, I saw Zach standing at the stove, making breakfast.

"Hey Sweetheart," he mused without looking up. He sniffled, his nose still stuffy. "So, I visited the doctor today, to see what was up with my health." He turned the stove off, serving the bacon onto two plates that already had eggs. "Sit." He placed the plates at the already set table, so I did what I was told. He looked straight at me when he spoke. "Apparently, I was experiencing some husband pregnancy anxiety. And the cold was just coincidental with the timing. But I'm fine now, since he gave me some anxiety relief medication and the number of a _trusted _spa." I knew what he meant by trusted; CIA approved.

"So that's it?" I asked.

"That's it." He replied. And it was that simple. We started eating, comfortable silence filling the space.

"But if you ever tell anyone what happened, I'll be forced to make your life miserable." I laughed.

"It's good to have you back, Zach."

* * *

A/N::: took me a while to get the idea straight =/ But then when I did, I thought it came out pretty good.

So review!


	4. Doppelgangers and Dacryops

A/N::: I had two words for this, because I couldn't decide which to choose =P

Read and Enjoy! And review!

Doppelgangers and Dacryops

Twin; exact clone—excess swelling of tears

Cammie POV

The pain started when I was in the kitchen, balancing six cans of Coke with my stomach and chin.

I know it sounds crazy, but I have an explanation. Tension was building between Zach and Grant about their last mission together to South Africa, blaming each other for their own faults. So I decided I'd had enough; I walked out, straight to the kitchen, waddling as best as I could with my pride still intact (yeah, pregnancy does that to you), giving off the intention of wanting to be left alone.

After the door swung shut behind me, I leaned against the sink, panting. Even walking a couple steps was getting tough, being nine months pregnant and all. My stomach was a round bulge, on the verge of bursting. And yet, this baby keeps on kicking, hence the black bags underneath my eyes. Honestly, if it wasn't for my constant mood swings and random outbursts, I'd be constantly anxious and jumpy, just waiting for this baby to pop out of me.

"Any time now, kid," I murmured, rubbing my bloated stomach. Ever since our hysterical moments, Zach and I have gotten over the fear of hurting our child. It was hard at first; I almost had a panic attack, for fear of damaging my unborn child. But when it was obvious I wasn't going to do it any time soon, Zach had tricked me into it.

"Hey Cam," he asked out of nowhere as we watched a (not the actual whole truth) documentary on Bill Clinton's life, "is it normal for my hand to have a line running from my middle finger to my wrist?"

"What?" I asked, completely confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You know when people read your hands and tell you life span and junk by those lines? Well, I have I long one running from my middle finger to my wrist." I frowned, examining my own palm.

"I don't have one," I replied. I tried to peek at his, but he held it at an angle so that it was just out of sight.

"Are you sure?"

I nod. "Unless this hand isn't mine, I don't have a line running from my middle finger to my wrist."

"Here, let me see." I held out my palm, curious to see if I missed something. He held it, my palm facing him, his forehead creasing with confusion. "Huh. Well, it's good that you don't hon."

"What do you mean? I thought you said—" I couldn't even finish my thought, my eyes going wide at the sensation of a round, warm bump, Zach's hand over my own.

"See, Cammie?" Zach whispered softly as I looked on, frozen out of fear. "You're touching the baby, and it's not dead." I tried to speak, tried to communicate how _angry _I was that he tricked me, tricked me into killing my baby. But I just sputtered, the truth dawning; I hadn't killed it. It was still kicking, and I could _feel _it beneath my hand.

My eyes became moist, my emotions fragile. But they were tears of joy and gratitude. I was _finally _able to touch my baby. _My _baby.

"Thank you Zach," I whispered.

And now, it was normal, almost subconscious, that I rub my stomach at least three times. I realized that I had stormed into the kitchen without purpose, if only to escape to tension. So I took out the last six cans of Coke, going through a couple stages of carrying them. I tried cradling them, but they were too cold. We didn't have a tray of any kind, so I had to carry them all. I could take three and come back, but I'd be too tired, and I want to do it on my own (it's a Morgan thing). So I looked down, and realized that I had my own personal tray. It was in the way of my feet (which I haven't seen in _weeks!). _

I placed two on my stomach and proceeded to stack them cautiously, wrapping my arm around the two by three stacks of cans, the middle row held down by my chin. I grinned as best as I could, congratulating myself mentally for such a creative way of carrying soda.

But when I turned to the door, I stepped in a puddle. I frowned, unable to look down, wondering what had spilled.

"That's funny," I murmured to myself, "I could've sworn I was just standing there—" I stopped, realization hitting me as my eyes widened. And one thought hit my mind through the mass; my underwear is wet. _My underwear is wet!_

That's when all Hell decided to break loose. I dropped all the cans immediately, the fact that _my water just broke _striking me as just a bit more important. The cans then exploded on impact as they hit the grounded, the linoleum covered in brown fizz.

That's when Zach stormed in, his eyes wide in worry, my name coming out of his mouth, asking me if I was ok. Since I was wearing a dress, and my back was to the counter, he couldn't tell that _my water just broke. _Instead, he saw me standing in the middle of a soda-covered floor.

"Cam, what happened?" That British accented voice belonged to Bex, who appeared behind Zach, Grant jockeying behind her for a better view.

"Oh nothing much," I pant, nearly breathless as I say, "just that _my water just broke and I'll be going into labor any second now," _and emphasize every word, not exactly screaming but not exactly soothing either. A second after, I add "Oh, and sorry about the mess. Out of refreshments." They stared at me as if I'd grown another head or two, probably wondering why I wasn't hysterical in a moment of hysteria.

"Bloody Hell!" Bex shrieks. "It's time! Lizzy, it's time!"

"I'm gonna be a godfather, finally!" I heard Grant cheer.

"No, _I'm _going to be the godfather, Grant!" I heard Jonas counter.

"Nu-uh! I am! Just ask—"

"Shut up!" Zach yelled, voice hoarse, already by my side, guiding me to the living room to get outside. "My wife is in _labor, _and if you two goddamn idiots don't get yours asses in the car with all the stuff, I'll make Preston the godfather!" We were already making our way to the door, and I could hear Bex barking orders, and Liz probably hacking into the stoplight signals so all we hit are green lights (like she promised). But I said nothing, focusing on the journey ahead.

Well, truth of the matter is, I'm in panic mode right now. But don't worry. I'll freak out alongside them eventually.

* * *

My nails dug into the passenger's head rest, resonating a loud screeching as Zach drove at least twenty miles over the speed limit.

"Zach!" I yelled, because I didn't know what else to do. "You better be driving this as best as you freaking can!" I was sweating and panting, trying to control my breathing like I learned.

"I am, Cam," he replied, hysteria edging his voice. This made me freak out even more.

"I'm going to end up having this kid in the new damn car if you don't hurry the hell up, Zachary Goode!" I screeched. The pain was nearly unbearable. And if these were contractions, I'd hate to be there, witnessing myself in labor.

* * *

"I'LL KILL YOU ZACH GOODE!" I scream. "I SWEAR TO ALL THAT IS HOLY I WILL MURDER YOU FOR DOING THIS TO ME!" The pain was unbearable; it felt like my insides were being ripped apart. Zach had respected my wish weeks before to not give me epidural; I didn't want science interfering with my firstborn. But that was before I knew how much it _hurt. _

"I'm sorry, Cam! I thought it was a mutual decision," Zach said, standing beside me.

I grabbed his shirt, pulling him to me before he could struggle.

"When we get home, you are _so _dead, Goode," I manage to get out before a contraction rips through me. I scream, but Zach doesn't run or turn away, despite my threats. Instead, he holds out his arm, letting me dig my nails into his skin, my grip tightening as the pain continues.

"It's okay, honey," Bex soothes, running her hand through my hair, as though something as simple as that could take away all this pain. "You're almost done. You can do it, Cammie."

"Almost there, Cameron," the damn doctor says. "Just keep pushing." A scream escapes me as I do as he says, willing this to be over.

"Hey Bex, Liz wants to know—" was all I heard coming from Grant, who had burst into the room all nonchalantly, which just about _pissed me off. _

"GET OUT OF HERE GRANT BEFORE I MURDER YOU TOO!" His eyes widen before he's off, and I don't have the energy to feel remorseful.

"One more solid push, Cameron. Come on, you're almost there," the doctor ushers, and I give one last heave before feeling sudden relief, panting as though I've ran a marathon time two.

Sudden screeches fill the air, and it takes me a while before I realize it isn't coming from me, but from the nurses' arms, a small bundle in her arms.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Goode," the doctor beams, "you've delivered a healthy baby boy."

I give a weak laugh, sweat streaking down my face. "You hear that Zach? You're getting the son you've always wanted." I let my head fall back, glad it's all over, the adrenalin not quite yet drained.

"Would you like to hold him?" the nurse asks Zach. He looks at me for an ok, and I nod, letting my eyes close.

"He's…" Zach pauses, at a loss for words. "Beautiful," he finally whispers.

"I would like to think so," I hear myself murmur, my senses still distorted. I can hear the doctor get up and snap off his gloves, only to put on a clean pair.

"What are you doing?" I hear Bex ask.

"Oh we're far from done, Mrs. Newton," the doctor says firmly. I manage to crack my eyes open to narrow slits, believing my hearing is still off.

"Whaaa? I thought—I thought I was done…" I trail off, too tired to finish.

I can hear his surprise when he speaks next. "I thought… I thought you knew. You're going to be giving births to twins, Mrs. Goode." I could've sworn he said twins.

"_Twins?" _Zach asks, confirming my bad hearing.

"Yes," the doctor replies, almost hesitantly. And then I feel it. A contraction.

"Oh, my God," I groan, my earlier grogginess gone, adrenaline refilling my veins at a fast rate. "Twins," I repeat, "we're going to have two mini Za-ah!" I yelp mid-sentence, as another contraction strikes, this one lasting longer and worse. The bed takes the brunt of it as I dig my nails into the mattress, trying and failing at keeping my breaths in control, painful moans escaping me.

"Not necessarily," I hear Bex mutter, almost uncomfortably. She's now holding the already-borne child as Zach holds out his arm, already bright red and beaded with blood where I had already dug in my nails. This time though, I grip his arm, willing the pain away.

"Are you sure?" I hear him voice.

"Of course he's sure!" I yell. "_I'm _sure! Unless you think I'm faking these goddamn painful contractions!" I grip his arm as another contraction decides to strike, my body still thrumming from the last one. I resume back to my previous mood, knowing that although it hurt others, it took away some of my own pain.

"GODDAMN IT ZACH GOODE!" I screech. "I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU FOR DOING THIS TO ME!"

* * *

I wake up in a stupor, my vision blurry as I try to recall the last few hours.

_Ah yes, _I think, as I try to move my limbs, only to find them heavy with medication, my neck and head hurting. _I was in labor for at least a whole day and gave birth… to _two _babies. Holy crap, two! _I manage to groan loudly, hopefully loudly enough to rouse Zach, who is, no doubt, sleeping in the chair next to my bed.

"Cammie?" I was right, of course.

"Zach," I whisper, my throat parched. "The babies," I pant, still exhausted, "where are they?"

"In the baby ward. Here Cam, drink this." He puts a Styrofoam cup to my lips, and I don't object. The feeling of the liquid is relieving, surprisingly.

"Where is everybody else?" I ask, after getting feeling back into my limbs despite Zach's protests.

"All waiting in the waiting room. They're worried about you, Cam." He gulps loudly, and that's when I notice his red eyes, slightly puffy. He looks like Hell, bags underneath his eyes, his hair wild.

"I know," I whisper, even though I don't. But seeing Zach in this state, I can tell that if they even feel half as anxious as him, then they must be worried sick. "But I want to see my babies first," I say as firmly as I can.

I expect a battle, or at least an attempt against it, but Zach nods, pressing a button, calling a nurse. I close my eyes and nod off, Zach's fingers entwined with my own.

"I want to be the first to hold my grandson!" A loud, commanding voice booms, making me look up, only to see a woman who once was in charge of my schooling and life.

"Mom?" I mumble, disbelieving. I held the baby boy in my arms, cradling him ever so gently, Zach cradling the other. "How did you—"

"Don't underestimate a mother's instinct, Cam." Joe Solomon, my mom's best friend and my old teacher, pops into the doorway, sauntering in.

"Well if it isn't Joe Solomon," Zach mutters. I expect a snide remark, but again, I'm surprised as Joe smiles.

"Well, it looks like you two are falling comfortably into parenthood," he observes.

"Can I hold him?" Mom asks me. I let her carry her new grandson, my arms feeling empty.

Mom's eyes start to tear up almost immediately as she gazes at my baby as if he's the most beautiful baby she's ever seen. Because I know he is.

"Baby, baby, baby, baby!" I hear from the hall. A second later, Grant appears, alongside Bex, Liz and Jonas trailing behind. "Let me hold'em!" Grant says, holding out his arms to Zach.

"Shut up, loser," Zach says, but hands the baby over. Bex and Grant coo over our little girl, Liz and Jonas joining in.

"Have you named them yet?" Another voice asks. I look at the doorway and see Macey leaning against the doorframe in all her glory. She smiles at me, and when I shoot her a questioning look, says "Preston couldn't make it, being the President's son and all, but he sends his congrats."

"Glad you could make it, Mace," I say honestly.

"So have you?" she asks, walking in and closing the door behind her. She doesn't get far though, seeing as how the room became crowded in a matter of seconds.

"Have I what?"

"Named them," she repeats.

"Oh," I say. "Yeah. Their names are Matt and Abby." Mentioning the name of my deceased family would usually make me cringe, but now we, Zach and I, have decided to give the names new meaning, to hold joy and hope instead of sorrow and regret.

"That's great," Mom smiles, a sad smile. "You're father would be so proud, kiddo," she whispers, kissing me on my forehead.

"We all are," Zach says. "You were a real trooper, Cam. Made it through with little complaints as possible." Bex snorts but says nothing.

"That reminds me," I say quickly. "Grant, I'm sorry for yelling at you like I did. I didn't mean to."

Grant grins his happy-go-lucky grin. "Don't worry about it Cammie. You were in a stressful situation. It's totally understandable."

"Thanks for understanding, Grant." We all fall into silence, except for the occasional squirming from the babies.

"So what now?" I ask.

"Picture time!" Liz bursts.

"Of course," Jonas says, "we need to document this special moment. Liz pulls a camera out of her coat pocket, ushering everyone to gather around Zach and I, Zach holding Abby, and me holding Matt.

"Alright," Liz says, setting the camera down on a table across from me. "We've got ten seconds. Everyone smile!" We all waited, our internal clocks hitting eleven seconds, then fifteen.

"Lizzy?" Bex says, "Are you sure you put the timer?"

"Of course!"

"Then why—" Bex was interrupted by a loud and yet quiet yawn, that had come from my arms. I looked down to see Matt smacking his tiny lips together ever so slightly, emanating some Aws, all their eyes on the little bundle of hope in my arms, and I could literally feel all their eyes tear up at the sight.

"Picture perfect moment," Zach whispers beside me. Even his eyes, I see, are a bit watery.

"Yeah," I whisper. "Just perfect." _Click. _

_

* * *

_

A/N::: Started and finished this in four hours straight O_o Sorry for the mistakes . I tried to get this up ASAP

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	5. Effete

A/N::: **My first excuse is that I lost my flash drive. I cannot write without my flash drive!**

** My second is that this was a hard chapter to write! I don't have children! So any and all helpful tips on what/how to continue will be greatly appreciated! XD**

Enjoy!

Ch.4

Effete:::

Worn out; degenerate

Cammie POV

Babies are cute. When they're not yours. But hell, taking care of a new born? _Fucking _hard.

But hey, why am I complaining? I've got two little devils of my own. Since they're newborns, as I've pointed out, I've had no choice but to take care of them myself, with Zach away at work, making the money. I honestly would never imagine my life as a homemaker at the simple age of twenty-freaking-three. But stupid Zach Goode and his stupid smirks and alluring body…

A sudden screech broke me out of my stupor as I rushed to the crib to cradle Abby, trying to lull her as best as I could while changing Matt's diaper. Two weeks in, and I'm already regretting turning down my mother's offer to help me take care of the twins. But honestly, my Morgan pride would never allow me to admit that I needed help. I mean, I'm Cameron Morgan, living and breathing legacy of Matthew and Rachel Morgan. How much trouble could raising two children be?

When we came home, only when I stepped through the threshold did I feel safe. Our (Zach and I) apartment had triple the security of normal houses. But apparently, it wasn't adequate. When news of the pregnancy had first broken out, Jonas insisted and convinced Zach to upgrade the security. After all, we would _be in charge of a new, innocent life that will be entirely dependent on us_. No pressure.

And so, I spent my fifth month of pregnancy watching Zach turn the guest room into a baby room. Yellow walls (since we didn't peek at the baby to see the sex), a beautifully carved crib that was a gift from my mother, a hi-tech baby monitor from Liz and Jonas, and a wardrobe full of fashionable designer baby clothes (who knew?) that just happened to be unisex, from Macey and Preston. And Bex? Of course Bex threw the baby shower (although I requested _not _to have one) that was simple and fun. If only my life was like that now.

First off, I only managed to get two whole hours of sleep before waking to Matt's beautiful scream that woke Abby as well. But luckily, I had Zach at that time, so he volunteered to check on them. But when he came back, claiming that they were hungry, I forced myself out of bed, reminding myself that they were Zach and my own legacies; I needed to take care of them to the utmost care.

After that, I managed to get three hours of sleep on the rocking chair, faintly remembering Zach leaving for work (because what kind of spy would I be if I didn't?). After those blissful hours of silence, I knew I would regret not letting Zach give them some of the bottled breast milk in the fridge (gross, I know, but you get used to it… eventually) and keeping my hour of sleep I lost.

Matt and Abby were balls of energy and bursting with curiosity. They've already tried to crawl and hide, and I've got a growing suspicion their tag-teaming on me to get in trouble. I know they're just babies, but they're _spy _babies.

Matt's got my brown eyes, and Abby's got Zach's green ones. They both have thin strands of brown hair and pale baby skin. They're so beautiful it's hard to believe they both managed to unhinge me in a matter of two week. Not in a bad way, though.

Two weeks later

A month. It's been a whole thirty days since our security pimped out place has been put to good use. 720 hours since I've had a good night's rest. 10,800 minutes that I've spent with my babies, who leave behind a trail of surprises every day for me. I mean, don't get me wrong. I love Matt and Abby. They've given me a new reason to thrive, have given life itself altogether a new definition entirely. But they needed almost 24/7 care, draining bottles and using up diapers like toilet paper. And after a month of changing diapers, tending to cries, sleepless nights and inevitably changing my shirt from puke/spit/spilled milk/baby food, I've realized something, sitting here in the magical silence as they nap.

I was _exhausted. _

I knew being a mother was tough. Of course it was; taking care of another life is surprisingly difficult. And I've never felt this drain since Solomon decided that I needed one-on-one training in the Amazon rain forest to defend myself against the Circle five years ago. It was stressful and hard. I had to navigate my way through the forest while avoiding purposeful traps and _accidents. _Nothing like fending off an anaconda with only a stick, rope and matches.

But even though my life _isn't _at risk and I don't have to perform some kind of super human phenomenon, the stress of caring for babies, two innocent youthful lives is just as massive as surviving.

So you're probably wondering what story of hysteria I'm going to tell you this time? Or did you actually think I would spend this time to rant about me dealing with the stress of newborns?

Well, it all started (at least I think it did), when Zach came home late one night, trying to be as quiet as possible, probably noting how it was all too quiet and dark in our three bedroom apartment. One wee problem, as Bex likes to claim exists when she puts too much stress on the door, is that it sticks. I didn't believe her but brushed it off. But apparently, Zach didn't see me cradling Abby to sleep in the living room, because he cursed and quietly slammed the door shut. I gritted my teeth, my inner tension already high and on edge because I was _so close _to getting them both asleep. Abby squirmed in my arms, and I almost cursed out loud, because her eyes fluttered open, and then closed. So when Zach came in and stood in the entryway, can you really blame me for how I reacted?

He started to speak but I cut him off, my voice straining to stay quiet and threatening. "I_ swear_ if you wake them I will _literally _rip your head off and shove it up your—" I glanced down at the tiny life in my arms, taking a deep breath to stay calm. "Please Zach, I've just barely got them to sleep. If you have any sense, then let me at least get them to their room. I've spent all day working my _A-S-S _off to keep it as quiet as possible because stupid Ms. Haney complained about all the crying when she's got that yapping poodle that just won't _shut up and—" _my voice cracked; I had to bite my lip to keep my emotions intact.

Without a word, Zach came over, taking Abby out of my arms. I looked at him, feeling empty. I was such a _bitch _when he just came in, and now he's helping me? God, I don't deserve him.

"Go rest Cam," he whispers, smiling as he gazes at Abby. "You deserve it."

I nod wordlessly, afraid of getting overemotional, tip toeing past the nursery and finally collapsing on the queen bed, hugging the sot duvets. I want to sleep _so badly, _but I know Zach would want to discuss my outburst while we can so I make my way to the bathroom, changing from a blue tee with dried spit and goo (don't ask) on it to sweats and a shirt of Zach's, too tired to care. I brush my teeth and untie my tangled hair and brush through it.

By the time I get out, Zach's already in bed, changed from his dress shirt to a loose white shirt.

"We need to talk," we both say. I sigh while he smiles. He pats the spot beside him and I go and sit, facing him.

"You first," he says firmly.

"Okay," I breath out. "Just hear me out, okay? I didn't mean to snap at you like I did. I just… it took _forever _to get Matt to sleep and just as long for Abby as well and I freaked out. And when that door slammed, the tension just went overboard in me and I snapped and I don't know why when you don't deserve it. I know I know, _I'm _the one that reject my mom's offer to help, but she's needed at Gallagher and I didn't want her to see that I'm not ready to be a parent and it's all just so messed up because I want my mother to be proud of me, and I wish my dad was here and Abby and I just hate the fact that my pride is _always _getting in the way and I just—snapped." I finish lamely. Oh shit, I just admitted my biggest fear and the look on Zach's face tells me that he took note of it. Aw hell.

He grasps my shoulders, making me look straight into his mesmerizing green eyes. "Listen to me, Cameron. You've been the best mother so far in the whole damn world, and you've been so strong ever since the birth of our children. I was _scared _when I found out we were having twins. Twins! Twice as much trouble."

"But—"

"No. No buts. You didn't even react as though it bothered you. You just brushed it off, knowing you could handle two babies. I was afraid that you'd back out, but no, you stepped up and took your rightful place as their mother without a single hesitation and I thought, you were so brave and strong, I couldn't believe that this was the same woman her hesitated on killing her enemy, and in the end, even after she killed someone you loved, you let her live. I know you don't exactly forgive her, but it takes so much more than guts to not give into the easy way. And you could have easily given up on the twins. That appalled expression you have on right now? That proves just how right I am. Cam, your heart's so big, you would never consider abandoning Matt and Abby, no matter how hard it gets. And when I realized this, I realized how undeserving I am of you. You're so strong and fearless, I bet if it was five children, you wouldn't notice because you'd be doing so damn well that it wouldn't matter. You'd be the best damn mother, and you _will _be the best damn mother. Together, we'll be the best damn parents, so don't you ever say you're not ready, because that would mean I'm not ready, and we're the Goodes, Cam. We're always ready." His eyes were so serious, his cheeks flushed, his breath unsteady, I didn't know what to say. Zach was usually a one sentence speaker; you'd be lucky if you'd get a full explanation from him. But now, after all this, he managed to lecture me to my place, and I should feel happy, right?

"I'm so tired," I cried, wrapping my arms around myself. "I shouldn't feel so reluctant, Zach. Taking care of Abby and Matt shouldn't feel like a job. They're my children, and I should love them unconditionally, but it's so hard because I'm so tired of all of this. I know you think I'm strong, but I'm not! I'm a monster for not loving my children so willingly and I feel so wretched for taking it out on you." I sob quietly, the emotional toll of babies taking its effect. And then Zach's arms are around me, and he's whispering in my ear, soothing me but I don't hear anything besides the truth I've decided on: I'm a horrible mother and I'm weak, useless and I've failed everyone.

"It takes someone strong to admit their greatest fears, Cammie. It takes someone strong-willed and determined to persevere through it alone. But you're not alone and never will be, Cam. Abby and Matt are our legacies, but they don't have to be. We can just as easily leave them at an orphanage and put it all behind us," Zach whispers. I stare at him in horror.

"How could you, Zach? Even considering that—"

"See? Even though you lie to yourself, calling yourself down on being a horrible mother, you still want to give them the best. And that is what makes you a great mother, Cam. You love them so much; it pains you to even consider abandoning them. You just need to realize it and accept that you may not be perfect, but you can be great." He kisses my forehead and with that simple touch, I'm able to feel all the love radiating of Zach for me, for Abby and Matt.

"You're right," I sniff, wiping away dried tears, "I may not be perfect but I can be a damn great mother. I'll… I'll be right back, Zach." I jump out of the bed with new energy, needing to prove that I do love them.

I creak open the nursery door and make a beeline to the crib. A smile comes on my face when I see both Abby and Matt sleeping soundly in the crib, under a shared blanket, almost hugging each other. I lean over as much as I can and kiss Abby's soft head gently, putting as much love into it as I can. I do the same to Matt, holding his escaped hand, whispering how handsome he would be when he grows up. His hand tightens around my pinky, and for once, I don't fear waking him up. I _want _him to, just to show that I do love them. But he just squirms, his eyes not even opening. I caress Abby's face, whispering how beautiful she was and how Matt would have to fend off teenage boys that would be all over her.

"Goodnight, Abby. Goodnight, Matt. I love you both so much," I murmur softly. I back away and turn, only to see Zach leaning against the doorframe, looking at me as if I was a precious gem. I run into his arms and hug him tightly.

"Thank you Zach. I don't know what I would do without you," I mutter into his chest. He chuckles.

"Well, for starters, you wouldn't be wearing that shirt." I grin up at him. "Let's go Cam. Who knows how long this peaceful silence will last." For once I don't object. Because when the sun rises, I'll be a mom again. But for now, under the cover of the night, I am a woman with a true love waiting.

I get my first full night of sleep at last.

* * *

A/N::: XD Did you think I meant Zach when I said "true love waiting"? I meant **sleep** XP You sick minded people!

Review and **let me know** how far I should take this. Keep it in toddler age or go onto teenage years or as far as Zach and Cammie's death?

**Also**, I'll take any words for the next chapter as long as it's creative, long, and not one used a lot. USE YOUR BRAIN PEOPLES!

Review!


	6. Flamenco?

A/N::: No excuses =/ One of my longest, though =D

Read, Review, and Enjoy!

Flamenco:

a style of dancing that is strongly rhythmic and involves vigorous actions, as clapping the hands and stamping the feet

Cammie POV

Eight months after child birth

"Zach!" I yell, beads of sweat dripping down my face. "Diaper ASAP! Matt just _exploded _in his pampers! I need a new diaper NOW!" I waited five seconds, only to be met with silence (and Matt's crying which is just as expected now) as I hold up his legs while Abby kept busy, putting on Pocahontas.

"Damn it Zach! Where are—" I stop, a diaper landing next to me with a plop. I wipe Matt's bottom quickly and thoroughly (what a cute butt he has!) to make sure he doesn't get a rash, changing his diaper in almost record timing and sitting him down next to his sister. I huff, glaring at Zach who just stood watching, chomping on an apple. "Could you have _been _any slower?" I mutter, keeping the tension out of my voice. My little ones could always tell when one of us was feeling angry/sad/stressed so we did our best to keep from upsetting them.

He bit into his apple thoughtfully, watching the scene where the young Indian on screen sings about the wind and colors and whatnot. He swallows, turning back to me. "I couldn't have come at all, you know."

"Then tell me _again _why you decided to take today off? If you're resolved in not helping?" I sigh, knowing I was wrong right away.

"Uh huh. Tell _me _again who let you sleep in until nine a.m. instead of waking up at six?" he smirked, even though his cheeks were full of apple. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Fair enough. So why exactly did you take the day off? I thought you said you were leading a team over the comms through a training exercise." I started picking up the stray toys, holding the awful smelling bag full of diaper and wipes at arm length and chucking it.

He shrugged, moving out of the way as I maneuvered through to the kitchen. "Jonas took over. Apparently I 'utterly and hopelessly fail in teamwork and respecting the billions of dollars worth of technology'. But I don't know what he's talking about. I'm _Zach Goode. _Everything I touch turns to gold." I snorted a laugh while he just stared at me. "What's so funny? Every mission I've led so far has been a success."

"When you're _there," _I emphasize, folding the strewn blankets. "Over comms though, you lose your patience if they're not quick enough, and you've yet to realize that they don't have the same vantage point as you do, when you get too into it. Plus, remember when you were helping Grant lead a team? He ended up with a bump the size of an ostrich egg on the back of his head, as well as a very pissed off Mrs. Newman." I laugh as he pales, rubbing his neck where Bex had wrapped her hands around. I got up, spying a dirty spaghetti-covered shirt peeking from behind the T.V.

"I'm not _that _bad," Zach muttered, throwing the apple core over his shoulder where it landed in the trash with a loud _thump. _He smirked at his triumphant. I just roll my eyes.

"Zach, even the Chief agreed."

"What? Since when?"

"Since you returned, claiming you had a day off. They just took you out as a nice way of saying 'You suck' since you're one of the top agents with a tempered flaw." I throw the shirt in the basket next to the couch as the T.V. drones on, Zach hypnotized as he sits, ignoring the verbal jab. But when I pass by, heading for a pair of mini pink converse (Macey had insisted), I'm pulled down so quickly I let out a yelp, landing in Zach's lap.

"Why don't _you _take a day off, Cam?" he whispers in my ear. I roll my eyes, ignoring the wave of goose bumps covering my skin.

"Being a mom isn't something I can _take a day off _from. Being a mom takes up all my time. Why do you think most couples wait until—" he cuts me off abruptly, his lips covering mine in a sweet kiss. "It's rude to cut people off, you kno—" I try, but he cuts me off again, the kiss hungrier.

"Stop being such a worrywart, Cammie," he mutters, twirling a piece of my hair around his finger. "Our kids are special; children of spies. You can't get much more special than that." I sigh, feeling the urge to still pick up the Converses. I try and get up, but Zach holds on, pressing me back. "Seriously Cam, you don't need to be in constant motion. It's okay to leave a pair of blue shoes hanging from the ceiling fan. Not like the Minis care much anyways." I smile at his nickname for them, leaning back into his embrace. I tense, a sudden thought intruding.

"You know, I just realized, those shoes weren't there a second ago, were they?" I watch as Zach's eyebrows furrow, his gears cranking as he tries to remember.

"Not… that I recall." I stare at him, his green eyes gazing back. "You're not… you're not implying that the Minis got those up there, are you? Those shoelaces are tied together and the ceiling's eight feet high. Those are Matt's shoes. Abby's are…" he raises his head, spotting the pink pair on the coffee table. "…right there. So how did… what?" We're knocked into silence, both of us confused.

"You know what, let's just forget we ever notice that," I say abruptly, both Matt and Abby giggling that cute baby laugh that makes you smile as they stay glued to the screen. "There's absolutely no way the little ones could've gotten that up there. No way."

"They are _our_ children, Cam," Zach implies.

"No Zach. I can see what you're thinking. We are _not_ sticking our children in the CIA program they've developed to train them from babies to adults."

"I wasn't—"

"Are you really going to lie to me, Zach?" I threaten, glaring at him.

He sighs, giving in. "Fine. _Maybe _it entered my mind at the moment but you're right. Our children will not be a part of the program." I'm surprised when he agrees so easily, but then I hear him mutter "unless Grant puts Alexi in, then game on". I pinch his ear with my free arm. "Ow! I was joking! Christ, woman."

"Zach would never agree to that," I state firmly.

"I guess so," he replies, sad almost.

"You know," I muse after moments of almost-silence, the babies still entertained, "they look kind of cool up there. Like interesting art, almost."

"Huh. I agree. We'll call it, Converse a la Matt." I snort at how dumb it sounds. Zach can always turn a tensed argument into a lighter one.

(Especially when he knows he's lost).

* * *

There's a loud pounding rhythm at the front door, accompanied with muffled yells. I'm in the bedroom, carrying an armful full of dirty clothes as I glance at the monitor next to the T.V, the tiny camera above the door showing me an image of Bex and Grant. Or course, Bex is doing all the pounding.

"Zach?" I question quietly enough that he'll hear me from his designated office but not loud enough to wake the napping twins in their room (which is bullet/sound proof—oh don't worry, there're baby monitors set up everywhere). "Zach?" I repeat, expectantly.

"Yeah, I got it." I shove the clothes into a basket, whites on top so it'll be easier to wash when I get the chance. I blow loose strands out of my face, heading to the twins' room. Just as I crack open the door just as the first cry blooms into the still air. Huh, I wonder to myself as I balance a sleepy Abby and tearful Matt on each hip, to think I was starting to miss the sound of the melodic screams.

"Where are my lovely niece and nephew?" Grant's singsong voice penetrates the room since I hadn't closed the door, causing Abby and Matt to squirm, recognizing the voice.

"Cammie!" I smiled as Grant nearly tackled me, lifting Abby into the air where she looked around, staying quiet unlike Matt who, when Grant did the same to him, giggled that baby laugh and reached around, nearly touching the ceiling.

"Alexi! Come in here and meet your cousins!" I saw a tiny brunette head shoot into the room, trying to tackle his father. The five year-old boy failed to knock him down, jabbing Grant behind his knee, causing him to buckle.

"Whoa!" I reached out, taking Matt from his arms before he fell, pretty fakely, taking Alexi down with him.

"Where did you learn that, Alexi?" I asked, sounding astonished. The toddler grinned up at me, his speech slighted accented from spending too much time with Bex.

"My awesome spy mum, Rebecca Newman." I grin back at him just as Grant wraps his arms around his son, adjusting my own stance as the Minis begin to squirm.

"Would you like to say hi to your cousins, Alexi?" I ask.

"Yes, please." I squat down, wondering what Bex had down to make him so polite.

"Say hello, Matt, Abby." I sit them down on my knees, Matt weighing a bit more than Abby. The twins reach out, trying to grasp Alexi's growing locks, his glossy hair just like his mother's. But I notice how he has Grant's grin as he tries to hi-five them, his blue eyes also from his father.

"Hello little cousins," Alexi says, squinting at them, and then me. I wonder why, but then I remind myself; Bex's son. Of course he was looking closely. It was probably instinct to him, now. "Matt has your eyes, Aunt Cammie. And Abby has Uncle Zach's. They both have little brown hairs. You have yellowish hair though, so I guess that's from Uncle Zach too. But then again, their hairs are so teeny I can almost see through them." Abby and Matt continue to reach out, trying to hook their fingers into his mouth and nose. I'm faintly aware of Grant sitting off to the side, watching his son with a fatherly, prideful smile on his face.

"Oh, right." Grant scrambles up, nearly falling as I watch, amused. "Bex wants to talk to you about something, Cam. Hey Alexi, we should go before your mother gets upset." Grant grasps for his hand, reaching towards me and taking Abby with his free hand, making it easier for me to stand with only Matt to hold. I trail behind the toddler and father, Abby looking back at me, reaching towards me. I smile, patting her head as we reach the living room, taking her back from Grant's grasp.

"There you are, Cammie. I was just—wow. You look… like a mother." Bex smirks as I glare at her, shaking my head in an attempt to fix my hair (which is actually fine), self-consciously. "Your hair's fine. But bags under your eyes, slouched posture, and shirt stained with unknown goop. Just how my first couple of months with this spitfire went." She pats Alexi's head, grinning as he tries to knock her down, jabbing her in the knee. She moves her leg though, timing it just right as he throws his whole body into it, sprawled on the ground.

He gets up quickly, frowning. Instead of crying, he mutters "I should have known better than trying it on mum" earning a chuckle from all of us, even Zach.

"So what is it that you wanted to talk about?" I ask, passing Abby to Zach, who seems to enjoy the affection he gives her. Then again, she was always meant to be Daddy's Little Girl.

"You two will be joining a mission with Macey, Preston, Liz and Jonas," Bex said calmly, her arms stretched out to carry Matt. I hand him over, wary about the glint in her eyes. "Nothing dangerous, I assure you."

"Preston…? But he isn't—I mean, he isn't trained," I manage to get out.

Bex just shrugged, offering no explanation. "I'm just the messenger. Just go to the address on this paper—" moving Matt to her hip, she pulled out a crumpled paper with a street and building address scrawled in Bex's messy handwriting.

"The kids—" Zach started.

"Taken care of." Her words were finally.

I sighed, resigned. "Fine. Let me just—" I stopped when I saw Grant dangling my purse from his hand. "How did you—you know what, never mind." I stomped out; slightly annoyed by the fact I was doing something against my will.

Only to come stomping back in, Zach, Bex, and Grant shooting me confused looks.

"I need to pee," I exclaim, striding past them.

* * *

After twenty minutes, I make my way to the living room, my hair pulled back into a bun and face smelling of face wash. Bex and Grant sit together on the ground, playing with Matt and Abby while Zach sits in the corner, watching with an amused expression as Alexi manages to pull off a red belt advanced technique in karate on the air in front of him.

"That was a long time to pee," Zach mumbled, his eyes still on Alexi, looking half asleep.

I blushed, embarrassed. "I had to freshen up. It's not every day that I get a day to myself. With you, of course. Let's go, Zach." He gets up without another word, holding the door open as I step out into the fresh air. "Take care. And Grant, don't try anything dangerous with the twins!" The door shut firmly closed behind me.

"Think they'll notice the shoes?" Zach asks.

I shrug. "Depends." I pause, thinking it over, and grin. "Most likely."

* * *

Meanwhile...

Bex glanced around and, spotting something out of her peripheral, looked up. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"Grant?" she murmured. He glanced at her and followed her gaze skyward. "How do you think they got those up there?" she asked, referring to the pair of blue mini converses dangling from the ceiling fan.

He shrugged, his mind already somewhere else. "Magic?"

* * *

"You want us to do what!" I shriek. Macey sighs, her tolerance swaying.

"One more time, Cammie. You and Zach will be _Flamenco _dancing. It's a type of Spanish dance. Preston and I will as well. And so will Liz and Jonas. Now, wrap you intelligent spy brain around that before you burst my eardrum."

"Oh…" I pause, not knowing what else to say.

"Why exactly are we doing this?" That's why I married Zach. He always knew what to say, even when I didn't.

Liz shrugged, twirling her colorful flaring skirt. "I guess Bex and Grant decided that we all deserved a nice night out."

"But why wouldn't they join us?" Jonas asked, his eyes glazing over as he tried to figure it out, as if it was a hard equation. But it was quiet clear to me.

I made a face. "Because Bex hates dancing more than anything. She says it's a waste of time. And what better way to get rid of us all by torturing us with her least favorite thing, which just so happens to be mine as well." I peek at Zach, swallowing down the embarrassment I felt from years ago. And then I take a better look as the swinging door swings shut, letting me glimpse it. A small ballroom, hidden between two larger stores on a boardwalk outside, the inside tiled with wooden planks paving the way to a room with wall length mirrors on all the walls. Even the other side of the door we stood behind, stalling as long as we can, has a mirror (or so Macey says).

Zach shuffled, obviously uncomfortable with the proximity. "So… what do we do?"

Macey opens her mouth to speak but Preston beats her to it. "I say we should do it. A free dance class, all expenses paid?" he grins, throwing his arms around Macey's shoulders. "I can finally show off my sweet dance moves." Macey snorts, a retort on her tongue, when Preston literally shoves her to the door where the swinging door obliges, sending a stunned McHenry stumbling through, her eyes wide as the dance instructor spots her, his voice booming. "Ladies first!" Preston announces, bounding after her.

We just stare, surprised Preston was still alive as the door swung shut, revealing glimpses of a pissed Macey pressed against an embarrassed looking Preston.

"Well…" Liz mutters after moments of silence. "Guess Jonas and I should probably head in as well. Oh, guys," she adds, turning towards us, "don't forget; your outfits are in the changing room. I think you'll like the ones we left you." Is it just me, or is Liz almost grinning evilly? I glance at Zach, noticing I'm not the only one who saw.

"But—"

"No buts Zach! Don't you want to show Cammie a good time?" My eyes widen in horror. That liar! She knows I hate dancing. But Zach is fooled; his eyes shift to me, his mind already made up.

He nods. "Okay. We'll meet you in there then." Liz squeals happily, tripping over the flouncy dress as she enters, a loud "oopsy daisy!" ringing through the room as the door swings shut, leaving us in the dimly lit corridor.

"We're not… actually going in there, are we?" I grin, watching as Zach smirks at me.

"Hell no. Did you think we were?" I nod. "Thanks, Cammie. Where's the trust?" I poke him in his side, laughing.

"Then let's ditch this place before they realize we're gone."

* * *

I smirk, laughing as the ice cream falls off of his nose, landing with a plop on the table.

"Uncalled for Cammie," Zach mutters, his eyes glinting. I smirk at him, my eyes wary.

"You wouldn't dare, Zach."

"Oh really?" Before I know it, Zach manages to snatch my cone, whipping his finger across it and smudging my cheek with chocolate ice cream.

I gasp. "Oh, you did not just—" he cuts me off with a sweet kiss, his lips and mouth tasting of strawberry.

I make a face at him as we break apart, snatching a napkin to wipe away the smudge. "Very funny Zach. The old Cut-her-off-while-she's-talking-so-I-won't-get-in-trouble move. Very suave." He laughs, really laughs, which is rare for him. He's always so serious and calm; it makes my insides churn madly.

Just then, the soft, background music of the tiny, empty (except for us, of course), ice cream parlor we were in, changes to a dance, almost meringue-type of music. Zach looks at me, his eyes suddenly intense.

"Let's dance. Just you and me, Cammie." It's so sudden, I'm startled.

"But I thought we just avoided dancing. If you wanted to stay Zach, you should've said—"

He leans in closer to me, his sugary breath toxic. "This time it'll be just me and you." I let out a rattled breath, abandoning my cone on the table. I would say it fell out of my hand, but that's too embarrassing.

"Okay," I whisper, too dazed by his look to realize what I had agreed to. I'm pulled out of the booth, Zach's face gone as I'm whipped around, forced to follow his steps or risk tripping. He leads fast and hard, the rhythm already set and memorized. And before I know it, I'm laughing, feeling giddy and light as we dance. It feels… almost surreal. Zach's laughing too, I know because his rib cage vibrates against my chest, my stomach fluttering at the deep chuckle. We speed up along with the song, gracefully managing to avoid tables and stray chairs. I can feel sweat gather on the back of my neck, my untied hair flying around loosely, but I don't care. I concentrate on staying light and fast, keeping up with Zach's light and graceful steps. I feel myself relax, letting go of the tense and strained stress of being a mother, letting myself be someone else. Someone who dances in an ice cream parlor with the man she loves, laughing at the very sound of his resonating chuckles. Someone who is able to feel the ground fall from under them, focusing on the only person who mattered at the moment, and living in that moment. Someone who doesn't worry about the past of present or future, choosing to keep this one memory vivid and alive.

After the five minute song ends, we collapse on nearby chairs, breathing hard. My breaths dissolve into a fit of giggles, leading to chokes of laughter, falling off the chair, not feeling a thing but the ecstasy. The feeling of flying still pumps my vein, letting me enjoy this bliss for seconds longer. I sit up, wiping away tears of joy, still laughing. I spot Zach crouched next to me, grinning widely like a fool who's just won the lottery.

I kiss him without thinking, knowing it's what my body wanted.

"I'll tell Liz I didn't miss a thing," I whisper to him, smiling. He smirks.

"Of course you didn't. I set this whole thing up," he tries, but I know he couldn't have.

"Uh-huh. So that look of terror, when your face paled when Liz said we had to _dance, _was all part of your act, then?" I laugh when he looks away, his cheeks tinted pink.

"I love you, Zachy-bear," I mutter, giggling when he makes a face at the awful nickname.

"I love you too, Cammie… poo?" he tries. I laugh, making a face at him.

"That sounds gross."

"Okay then. I love you too, Cammie-pie." I laugh again, this time at the ridiculous sounding name. We share another kiss, under the fluorescent light of a small and cozy ice cream parlor, crouched on the ground, in the middle of a town that was mostly asleep.

It was perfect.

* * *

Review


	7. Gastropod

A/N::: Sorry for the long wait and future grammar error

Enjoy

Review

Disclaimer::: I don't own, by the way.

Gastropod

Mollusks including snails; slugs; whelks

Zach POV

I stare at her, the newspaper still in my hands as I tried to decode what she had just said.

"You're… wait you're going back to work?" I ask, incredulous. Cammie just sips her coffee, nodding slightly. "And you were going to tell me this _when_?"

"Now," she says simply. "I knew you had a day off today so I figured you could watch them instead of getting Grant and Bex or the others to come over. You're okay with this, aren't you?"

"But…" I pause, thinking of an excuse, any excuse. "Aren't you still breastfeeding?" She makes a faces, dumping the rest of the brown liquid down the sink drain.

"No. Haven't you been paying attention to what I've been saying? Or did you just start when I mentioned I was leaving for work?" I open my mouth, but come up with nothing. "Uh huh. That's what I thought. And no, I'm not. The twins have already been weaned. The bottles of milk are in the fridge, all you need to do is heat it up. You're okay with this, aren't you?" she repeats, biting her lip like she does when she gets nervous. Cammie may be a spy, but we all have our little quirks. Mine, of course is the Smirk.

"Yes," I nod, doubting my own word even as I say it. She can see it too, the way her mouth moves into a frown. I stand and walk to her, wrapping my arms around her small frame compared to my own. Sometimes I wonder how Cammie, my petite, beautiful Cammie, could be such a lethal weapon, brought up to be a killer/agent. And yet she was so small and fragile, it was hard to believe she could kill a man 20 different ways with just her hands. But I've seen her in action. This nervous, fidgety woman was nothing like the cold, relentless agent she could be.

I kiss her hair, careful not to mess up her bun. "We'll be okay here, Cammie," I whisper, pulling away so I could look her in the eyes. "Now go and kick some terrorist ass." I smirk and she smiles, the gesture lighting up her whole face.

"Thanks, Zach. I knew I could always count on you." We kiss, a sweet gentle kiss, careful not to say "good-bye" as she leaves, because we hope that whenever one of us leaves through the door, it won't actually be good-bye.

"Bye, Cam," I raise my hand as the door closes quietly, sighing to myself. I flinch when I hear a high pitched cry.

I groan quietly, heading towards the noise. "This is going to be a _long _day…."

* * *

Blink.

Stare.

Blink.

Stare.

"How are you doing this?" I whisper as Matt and Abby continue their stare off, their gazes falling on their twin. I dressed them each in their respectful gender colors (after an hour long bath), hell, I even scraped Abby's tiny baby hairs into a lop-sided mini ponytail, and yet instead of wanting to go out and do what normal almost one year olds want to do, they continue to have a stare-off with one another, ignoring the colorful and annoying Teletubbies onscreen.

"You both ran out of diapers," I whisper. I guess they can't understand me yet, or just know I'm lying because they don't move. Abby reaches out and tries to poke Matt's face and to my surprise, he lets her. But when her fingers starts picking his nose, he moves, making an annoyed baby sound, pushing her hand away. That's when they break, Matt turning and crawling away, leaving Abby just sitting there, unknowingly victorious.

I rock back on my heels, whistling lowly at what I just witnessed.

I pat Abby's head, smiling as she turns her green eyes towards me. "Don't worry there Abby," I say, "he'll be back." I grin as she reaches and grabs my hand, making those painfully adorable noises as she tries to stick my finger in her tiny teeth-less mouth. I see Matt pick up a toy truck in my peripheral vision about two feet away, throwing it around in the air.

"Whoa there buddy," I mutter, reaching over and grabbing the plastic ladder that had swung off and nearly clonked him on the head. It was small and feather-light but still, it could have made him bleed, or worse, get a concussion. Oh God, if Cammie ever found out…

"Alright, that's enough toying around for you," I smirk, lifting Matt and Abby under each arm as I stand. "Ha. Get it? _Toying around_? Because, Matt was playing with a toy?" They both ignore me as I step out of the apartment, locking the door behind me as I manage to balance them both. "What am I saying?" I say aloud to myself, standing in front of the elevator. "You kiddies don't appreciate my Zach-humor." Once I reach the car (baby-friendly, of course), I strap them both in, double check to make sure they won't go flying out, and sit behind the steering wheel for a few minutes, wondering what to do next.

Cammie had said that they liked visiting Grant's, but she probably wanted me to spend a day with the Minis. Dragging a hand through my hair, I made a quick, impulsive decision.

* * *

Holy. Crap.

Since when did a park become so damn dangerous? The swings are just lethal seats waiting to crack open a head, the surrounding trees are like freaking towers waiting for their King Kong, and the sand box? Full of germs and kids willing to stick anything in their mouths!

Matt was off in the corner of our designated grassy spot (it was the least deadly place I could think of, what with the bike riding psychos and crazy ignorant parents) while Abby was across from him, pointing at a dog, her lop-sided ponytail falling in her eye as she pushed it away with her chubby baby fingers.

After wandering around for ten minutes, I finally found a shady, nice spot underneath a tree off to the side, twenty neat feet away from most of the population, grimacing as the tiny ant hill nearby as I set them both down. I could tell by their expression, that the Minis loved the park. They crawled around, attempting to stand (but failing epically/cutely, I'll admit) and rolling around on the grass. I sat back, glad to have found a nice place, letting my mind wander as they stayed nearby, their short limbs unable to carry them far.

_I honestly don't see how Cammie finds this difficult, _I tell myself, smirking. _This isn't so hard, once you get the hang of it. _I crack open an eye, just to amuse myself at how easy it was to watch them, only to find Matt literally _sucking _on a snail shell while Abby was poking at the ant pile with a stick shorter than her arms. They were both at least seven feet away from each other.

"Matthew you take that out of your mouth, right _now!" _I'm already standing, slipping the saliva covered shell out of his saliva covered fingers, and flinging it across the park where it hit a biker on the helmet. I couldn't help but grin as the biker fell over, the momentum of the shell enough to had felt like he was getting stoned, watching his confused expression as he looked around, wondering what had hit him. I dropped my arm, quickly heading over and scooping Abby up where she starting crying. I looked on her arm, only to find an _ant _on her soft skin, travel onto her shirt. I slapped it off lightly, checking and double checking her clothes and making sure there weren't any other critters left on her.

"It's okay Abby, the mean ant didn't bite you," I soothed, even though I knew she was mad at me for pulling her away from bugs that she thought were her friends. I set her down quickly besides Matt, who had wondered closer to the shade. I slumped down, feeling tense and like a spring, not taking my eyes off of them for a second.

"Watch yourself, Matt!" I yelled as her precariously crawled closer to the sidewalk, now only fifteen feet away (I'm a father, damn it! I have the right to worry). He began pulling at the grass, nearly falling back as he over heaved. I looked over at Abby, only to stumble over towards her.

"Abby, honey," I muttered, my voice sounding hoarse as I reached out towards my little girl, who had picked a shell out of the insanitary dirt and was examining it, turning it in her hand. "Don't, don't stick that in your mouth—" I stopped short, watching in horror as she stuck it in her mouth and _swallowed _it. "Jesus, Abby!" I stuck my finger in her mouth immediately, wincing as she bit down and started to squirm and giving up when I couldn't find the shell—_which she had swallowed!—_and rubbed my saliva covered finger against my jeans. "If you were hungry you should've said something," I grumbled, throwing her over my shoulder and making my way to Matt, where I balanced him on my hip, carrying him like a football.

"Time for lunch," I tried happily, only to realize that it would get messy. _Really _messy, by my luck.

* * *

"You're supposed to eat the ice cream Matt, not rub it all over your shirt," I groaned, picking up a napkin and trying to clean his once-blue shirt that was now smeared with chocolate and ketchup, crumbs of hot dog bun bread still on his jeans. Abby on the other hand, had the food all over her face.

"It goes _in _your mouth Abby, not every _but!_" I take a deep breath, wiping the sweat off of my forehead with the back of my hand, trying hard to keep my cool. I glanced around from the bench we sat on (well technically the Minis; I was crouched in front of them, too busy trying to clean up after them). My face felt sticky with strawberry ice cream Abby so graciously smudged on my face and I could feel my legs falling asleep from staying in a crouched position. If anyone saw me like this I'd probably—

"Zach?" _Have to kill them, _my thoughts finish. I freeze, the voice sounding scarily familiar. I turned slowly as I stood, keeping a steady expression, only to find a not-so-familiar looking guy staring at me, holding hands with a blonde woman, probably only passing by. I squint, his face somewhat familiar and then look around, wondering if it had been someone else who had spoken, or had been spoken to.

"Zach? As in Cammie's boyfriend?" the blonde mused. I frown, unable to place names to their faces.

"Uh, hey, fancy seeing… you guys here," I managed to get out, panic setting in. Who the hell were these people? And how did they know Cam and me?

"You probably don't remember us," the guy was saying, both of them closing in. I tensed, my fight-or-flight instincts kicking in. I spared a glance at the Minis, realizing that I would have to run with them if it came down to it. "Wait—are those… Are those your kids, Zach?" the man was saying, stopping just three feet away.

"Yeah," I answered warily. "Listen, I'm sorry but I can't seem to remember who you two are," I said bluntly. If these two were undercover agents, they would give a coded message; but if they weren't, well then. I wouldn't like to cause a scene, here on a bench in the middle of a park near an ice cream vendor, but I guess life doesn't listen to wants.

"Oh, how rude of us. Of course you wouldn't remember people you've only met a handful of times," the blonde blurts, sticking her hand out to shake. I glanced at my own, which was sticky with ice cream and shrug an apology. She quickly takes her own back, blushing. "It's Dee Dee, Zach. And Josh. From Roseville?" I raise my eyebrows, the closest I'll come to showing surprise in public, realization hitting.

"Jim—I mean Josh. And Dee Dee. What a surprise seeing you guys… out of Roseville," I say, smirking at Josh's annoyed expression as I almost screwed up his name—_again. _"So what brings you guys out to Langley?" Although I hadn't wanted to, Cam and I had to stick close to HQ, seeing as how we were CIA and all.

"Oh, well Josh here is actually a journalist, and he's covering a story on the CIA and since Langley, Virginia is infamously known as the CIA Headquarters, we decided to spend a few days here, check out the scenery and all." Josh glanced at Dee Dee, probably for spilling too much information. But when he looks at me I can tell he's gloating, proud of his job. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, his ego only growing.

"Sounds…. exciting," I say, grinning. I turn, cleaning the Minis, trying _so hard _not to burst out laughing at how easily his ego is inflated. "Oh and yes," I say instead, grimacing as I chucked the twin's ice creams into the convenient garbage, "these little monsters are our children—Cam's and mine," I glance back as I say this, catching how Josh's jaw muscles twitch and fist clenches.

"Really? Congratulations! They're so cute!" Dee Dee squeals, and I smile tightly, trying not to wince at how fake her high-pitched voice is. Having only met Dee Dee once before, I'll admit I don't know a whole lot about her. But from what Cammie's told me and from what've I've seen, she's constantly full of life, always too happy, which usually means she's covering something up.

"Thanks. Cammie's working so I offered to watch the kids, give her a day off from being a mother." I'm a spy; lying is my career. Don't judge me.

"How sweet! Josh and I are planning on a child ourselves. Isn't that right, Joshy?" While I wonder if Dee Dee ever gets tired of being perky, Josh musters up his bits of self-discipline and smiles at me, almost bitterly.

"Yeah. We just decided to wait, so as we don't rush into things," he tries, probably trying to jab me? "Looks like parenthood's taken its toll on you, Zach." Yep, an intentionally jab.

"Parenthood is one of the best things I've ever done," I snap quietly, knowing it's true, even as I say it. "And one of those life lessons to help maturity. I don't regret it."

"If only Cammie was here to here you say that. How golden of you, _Zachary_," Josh bites back, his voice only _slightly _changing as he pronounces Cam's name. I smile, intentionally angering him.

"Cammie and I couldn't wait to have kids, actually. What can I say? I love her and couldn't wait to start our life together. And when we found out they were twins, we were just completely floored." I smile, listening but not hearing as Dee Dee droned on about marriage and how she wished we could have made it to their wedding as I made up some lie about having a sick relative and when she asked about our wedding, I lie quickly about sending them an invitation but how the post office probably screwed it up. Every time I brought up Cammie (which I did, constantly, I assure you), I would see Josh glance away or stiffen, as if it still bruised his ego to talk about her.

Really? After years of not even seeing her, how could he still be broken up over her? It wasn't as if she had led him on, or even made promises. Hell, she even erased his memory. And yes, I know it was forced, but still. It isn't as if she had denied it.

We spoke for about five minutes (alright fine, three minutes and thirteen seconds) when the Minis ended their silence, squirming from the bench as they started to cry, pulling at my pants leg.

"Well that's my signal," I chuckle, amused at how smart the Minis were. "Cammie's probably expecting me to call soon and seeing as how I didn't bring a cell phone with me, I should probably head home," I lie, tugging my shirt down over my pocket where my cell phone was, subtly. But, as my luck would have it, it rang, the ring tone ringing loud and clear. "Huh," I say, pulling it out, "guess I had it all along." I avoid their gazes as I turn slightly, telling to the Minis to hush for a second as I answer the phone. "You've reached the amazing Zach Goode," I declare, already knowing who was calling.

"You sound so arrogant, answering like that," the soft voice retorts. I smirk.

"Love you too, Cammie-dear. So what's up?" I dare a glance at the couple behind me, giving them a smile.

"Just wondering how the kids are, since I'm on my way home. So did you spend the day at the apartment? Or did you go out with the twins?" Cammie asks, and I freeze, not knowing if I should mention we were currently at the park and admit running into Dee Dee and Josh (since they're standing right there) or lie to her blatantly. But of course, as luck would have it, a group of yelling, happy kids pass by, yelling about racing each other to the playground. "You're at the park?" Cammie inquires, and I sigh mentally, forcing cheer into my voice as I reply.

"Yep. And guess who I ran into? You'll never believe it." I could hear her hesitation, her hitched breath.

"Is it the Circle?" she whispers. I can hear her fear, the dreadful possibility that we were in the Circle's grasp.

"No," I whisper soothingly, almost sorry I told her to guess. "No, dear, never. I would never take the kids out, under those circumstances. It's Dee Dee and Josh, hon. You remember them, don't you?"

"Dee Dee and Josh?" she questions. "Oh. Oh! Right, from Roseville? Yes, I remember them. They got married two years ago, didn't they? Tell them I send my condolen—I mean congrats. I actually meant congrats. Oh god, I'm not on speaker, am I?" Her voice hits high pitch, cracking at the end, fearful.

I laugh, keeping an eye on Abby who edges too close to the trash can, at the end of the bench. "No honey, you're not; no worries. Anyways, do you want us to meet you at the house?" I say intentionally, to lead off that we actually don't own a house; it'd be far harder to get up and leave a house, if necessary.

"Yeah, if you're done chatting and the twins are done playing. You fed them lunch, right? I'll make dinner later, maybe some—" I remove the phone from my ear as I lean over to plop Abby onto the bench, shooting her a stern look as I go over and scoop Matt up, setting him down besides her, placing the phone to my ear just as Cammie finishes talking about what to make as I faintly note Dee Dee and Josh conversing quietly. "—And maybe some mash potatoes so we won't have to force feed the twins. Sound good?" I pause, not knowing how to respond.

"Sounds interesting," I reply instead.

"Uh huh. You weren't listening, were you?" Cammie questions, and I grin, knowing she's right.

"Well, the twins were about to fall off this hill so I _had _to save them—"

"Oh don't be such an extremist, Zachary," she snaps. I smirk. "Listen, I'll be home in twenty. Be there by then, or I won't be making dinner for you. Is that clear?" She sounds so much like her mother, ordering me around and telling me what to do (with Rachel, it was to keep away from Cammie when we were sixteen; at twenty, she told me not to break her daughter's heart or she'd break me). So I agree, hanging up after a nicer goodbye.

"Sorry about that," I say, turning and facing a smiling blonde and annoyed looking brunette couple. "Cammie's having mother anxieties. She sends her regards, by the way." I don't know what he was expecting, but Josh's face falls when I say that, as if he was hoping she'd gush her love for him over the phone. "Anyways, we should be heading home. The twins look exhausted so—"

"Josh and I think it'd be a great idea to have dinner some time—well, typically tonight, actually—just to play catch up, you know, talk about how the years have gone by. I would've asked as you spoke to Cammie, but we just came to an agreement, Josh and I. it also seemed plenty rude to interrupt. So I don't mean to intrude, and I totally understand if you decide that you don't want to bring back lost memories or if you have to watch your kids and have a nice family outing and all because I've heard twins can be a handful and all, but we just thought it be a good idea." I open my mouth, not sure how to respond. Sure Dee Dee was nice and all, but how would Jimmy react once he saw Cammie? I wouldn't be surprised if he threw himself at her feet, begging her to take him back. But then, it was also a good time to prove once and for all how it would be a lost-cause for him to pursue this infatuation any longer.

"I don't see why not," I hear myself agreeing. I soon find their number in my cell phone as I walk away, carrying two sticky and sleepy twins in my arms. It isn't until I reach the family-friend car, that I question exactly what I did.

Shit. What did I just get myself into?

* * *

A/N::: There will be tons more of Josh and Dee Dee =D

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	8. Hot Water

A/N::: Words cannot describe how sorry I am. But I hit a major writer's block. And school absolutely buried me. But I said I wouldn't quit, and I won't. Thanks for all of you that stood by me :)

You'll absolutely LOVE the ending. Or HATE me.

Disclaimer::: I don't own Gallagher girls series, nor do I know a guy named Brad Rickshaw. Sorry if I tarnished your name =/

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Chapter 7: Hot Water

Cammie POV

"So…" I mused loudly after a moment of awkwardness, "what brought you two to our nation's capital?" I caught Josh and Dee Dee sharing a look, Josh's opposing, while Dee Dee just shot him a glare before turning to us, her eyes bright and cheery. As per usual.

"Well, the thing is," she started, leaning in closer, her voice going down an octave from her usual bubbly tone. I found myself leaning in as well, to my surprise. "I work for the Associated Press. You've heard of them, of course?" She paused, waiting for my confirmation. "And rumor has it that the government is stirring up some heat in Nigeria. Something about the uprisings happening across Africa. And they sent me to cover the news quietly. Of course, it's on the DL, so I'd appreciate it if you both didn't say a word?" She bit her lip, something as a teenager must've helped her get her way. She could still pull it off.

"Of course," I lied through my teeth, nodding assuringly. "I mean, Zach and I, both work in offices, nothing governmental. But if it assures you, I'll make sure not to say anything." The thing about being a spy is that as you age, as you learn how to survive, you learn to sacrifice an individual's feelings for the greater good. Besides, it wasn't us who started it. The Nigerians did.

"So, because of my job as a political journalist, we've come to Washington D.C, as well as to go sight-seeing," she finished happily, her posture straightening as she leaned back next to Josh, who was watching Zach curiously. I glanced down at my plate of food, rearranging the food with my fork to stall.

"So," I said, sounding casual, "does that mean you scope out things like the government's spies and secret missions?" I meant it as a joke, but an eerie quietness passed, or maybe being a spy made me paranoid. Because after I admitted that Zach and I work office jobs, something passed through Dee Dee's eyes, like mistrust and doubt.

"Yes," she admitted slowly, as if not to alarm me. "But if it helps, I don't go around stalking people and risking my life to expose the identities of people trying to keep us safe," she said, looking directly into my eyes. The hairs on my neck rose, my senses tingling, a small voice screaming in the back of my head, _She knows! _

"Well that's nice to know," Zach said jokingly, grinning widely. "We wouldn't want our lives to be all over the newspaper for being friends with a high ranked journalists." He let out a laugh, one that was infectious and had all of crinkling our eyes in happiness, laughing along with him and his infinite humor.

"Oh Zach," Dee Dee said, a smile still plastered onto her face, "I didn't know you were such a joker."

"Well, it's one of the reasons Cammie here stuck by me all these years." He wrapped her arm around my shoulder, and I leaned in on impulse. Zach and I weren't fans of public displays of affection, so I knew that as he leaned in my ear to appear as if he was whispering sweet nothings to me, I smiled and made myself blush, as if he actually was.

"Stay calm, Cammie dear," he whispered. I rolled my eyes for show, making sure Dee Dee and Josh, who pretended he wasn't watching, were. It got strangely quiet, and I couldn't help but change the subject quickly.

"So, you guys don't have any kids of your own, do you?" I asked. But regretted it as Dee Dee's face was wiped clean of any lingering joy, replaced with an expression of sorrow. Josh's jaw was set, his gaze avoiding everyone else's. No one spoke, which made my face burn red with embarrassment. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply—I didn't know—"

Zach cleared his throat quietly, and I shut up instantly. I started berating myself mentally when Josh, for the first time, spoke up.

"It's not a hundred percent impossible," he said quietly, finally looking at us. He glanced at Dee Dee, whose head was ducked, her blonde hair hiding her expression. "We've been to the doctor, and he said that there were some difficulties. We've been trying for a kid for a year now, but we haven't given up." He reached over, his eyes on his wife as he spoke, grasping her limp hand in his. He placed a sweet kiss on her knuckles, murmuring to her quietly.

I glanced at Zach, feeling horrible for bringing up a delicate topic. He shot me a look that clearly said I wasn't at fault and shouldn't blame myself, but I couldn't help it. Zach and I had accidently gotten pregnant, and here were these two, desperately wanting a child, but unable. I wanted nothing more than to rush home and hug the crap out of my children.

"I'm sorry, Cameron," Dee Dee piped up, her voice still lacking its usual cheerfulness, but at least she was speaking to me. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, especially since you asked something that I should've known would come up eventually."

"_You're _apologizing?" I asked in disbelief. "I should be the one. I brought it up." She shook her head, about to speak, but I beat her to it. "Dee Dee Abram, you are too nice for your own good," I stated, cracking a grin. To my relief, she smiled back. I ignored her red-rimmed eyes, mustering up a serious voice and gaze and said, "I bet you've been told that by every person you've ever met." She gave a weak laugh, which was enough for the tension to disperse, leaving a light, almost happy feeling in the air as we conversed, taking caution to stay off heavy topics and tiptoeing unknown ones. Hell, even Zach and Josh were able to hit off, talking about football, which I knew Zach didn't waste time watching, yet knew more than I thought he would.

Dee Dee and I talked to each other excitedly (mostly her) about political gossip, which she was, to my surprise, very knowledgeable about.

"I've heard that President Obama has been fighting the republicans on everything," she spoke in a serious tone, her facial expressions not matching those of the girl I remembered from years ago. "That bill he wants to pass, about raising the taxes on the rich, is completely justifiable. But the arrogant snobs, much of which _are_ rich, want nothing more than to say no. If anything, they want to tax the poor, which absolutely makes no sense. And the news anchors, like that simpleton Brad Rickshaw on News Reporting Now, are making up statistics to make it seem like the poor aren't actually poor. Can you believe that?"

"I can, actually. I've met Brad Rickshaw, by accident." Her eyes grew to saucers, her blue pupils a contrast against all the whiteness of her eyes. "Yes, he was passing by our offices, said he wanted to prove he was part of the public, that he was just like everyone else. He's as douche-y as they get." Of course, it wasn't entirely true. I had actually been a part of his bodyguard group, during which I had to tackle an obese man and avoid getting slapped by an angry housewife who held a picture of a baby, claiming it was his.

"I knew it!" she shrieked when I told her about the angry housewife. "So his affair was true, and I bet my life's savings it's his. Oh man, Karen will get a kick out of this," she giggled, and I couldn't help but laugh along with her. We got strange looks, but for once I didn't care. For once, I didn't have to worry about the twins, or watch my back every second. I was finally at ease, and felt like a normal woman in her mid twenties. Finally.

"Wow, look at the time," Zach said, his eyes on his watch. "It's already nine pm, bordering on ten. We told Rebecca and Grant we'd be home by nine thirty. The twins should be asleep now, though." He was right, of course. We were so caught up on catching up we lost track of time, the restaurant already almost empty, save for a couple and the waiters who were eyeing us, as if they could will us to leave with their gazes.

"Yeah, we should be heading home soon as well," Josh said, who was visibly more relaxed than before. The champagne glasses were probably at fault, but only his cheeks were flushed. His gaze was still sharp, but of course, Dee Dee wouldn't have it.

"You are not driving us home," she said sternly, taking the keys from his grasp. He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

"You know I can drive perfectly fine. I only had one beer," he argued.

"One is enough on its own." We stood outside the restaurant, a breeze sending a chill through me. I had on a coat, but Dee Dee wore only her blouse, so I could only guess how cold it was by her shivers. And then Josh did something that proved that he really did love his high school sweet heart.

He automatically took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, letting his arm rest there, letting her head rest in the crook of his body. She smiled, blushing like a teen in love, and he planted a kiss on her head, chuckling when she let out a squeal. Watching him, I couldn't help but realize that not only did time change Dee Dee, but Josh as well. He's definitely matured into a man, and I couldn't help but think that I was happy for them. And ignore the empty feeling crawling into my stomach.

"We should do this again sometime," Zach said, his arm around my waist. I glanced at him, giving him a smile. He smirked at me, obviously proud of the set up of this first double date. But there was something in his eyes, something I couldn't decipher.

"Definitely!" Dee Dee chirped. "I have a pretty busy schedule on the weekdays, no doubt the both of you do as well. So maybe next Saturday? You're free that day, right Josh?" I couldn't shake off a paranoid feeling, the hairs on my neck rising.

He nodded, his already on his car across the street where their car sat. "Yeah."

I smiled, wrapping my arm around Zach's waist. "Saturday it is. Maybe at the cafe down the street?" I offered. And then I saw it; it was only a flicker in my peripheral, but I definitely saw movement down the street behind the couple. I squeezed Zach's waist, and he squeezed back, confirming what I saw.

"Sounds cozy," Dee Dee smiled. "Agreed." She shivered, a sign that we should be going. That and the waiter from the restaurant loudly banging the OPEN sign to CLOSED. I could feel my muscles tensing up, my heart rate speeding up slightly. _Stay calm, _I told myself, smiling, _and don't alarm civilians. _

I took a step back towards our car, nudging Zach along with me. "We'll see you around, I guess," I said, waving. They waved back until we disappeared from sight around the corner.

"You saw it, right?" I muttered, my pace going from walking to almost a run.

"The guy slipping into the alley? Definitely." We let go of each other but kept up, two of my strides matching his. We quickly covered the block, slipping into a short cut that took us behind the restaurant. But I stopped short, cursing myself for being too preoccupied with the black clad figure to realize his intentions.

"He might attack the Abrams," I blurted, my thoughts already churning. Zach stopped a few paces in front of me, cursing loudly.

"I'll go around and see if he's still in the alley. You go and check on them, make sure they're safe." I was already turning, running back around the corner to the hundred yards I needed to cover to reach them.

"Be careful!" I heard Zach say before I was picking up my pace, my veins thrumming with adrenaline. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to them.

I heard a scream as I neared the block corner. I bit back a whimper, forcing my legs to turnover faster.

_Let them be okay, _I thought, my heels clacking loudly. The cold air seared my throat as I spotted the last street light, the corner in sight. _Don't do this, not today. _The voices were undistinguishable but loud, and I knew I would never make it. I had to do something. But how?

"DEE DEE!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, which already burned. "JOSH!"

A gunshot rang as I rounded the corner, the noise so loud my ears rang as I hit the cement hard.

* * *

Do ya hate me yet? :D

For those of you who care, I had another version of this chapter. And it was NOT working. So I stopped, and next thing I knew, I haven't updated in almost a year o_o

I'm not someone who apologizes a lot, but I know I owe all of you. I was reading the reviews and knew that I had to get back to this. I HAD TO. So I whipped this up in about... 3 hours? 'Cause I owe you all so much. Hope I didn't make too many grammatical mistakes (which will probably come back to haunt me).

So Thanks for sticking by me, you won't regret it :)


	9. Induced Memory

A/N::: Hm, my newly acquired beta is nowhere to be found...

Anyways, I know it's extremely late but life has caught up to me :/

Disclaimer::: I do not own the series.

Enjoyy

Ch. 9

Induced Memory

A weak voice slithered its way into her unconscious thoughts, planting itself in the middle of her slow, but sure thought process as she struggled to grasp reality.

_"Do you remember?" _it lulled, its soft whisper tickling her brain. _"The day I asked you to marry me? You told me in a way I'd never forget." _The sentence seemed to trigger something in her head, a memory taking shape among the floating darkness that engulfed her mind.

_The concealed couple walked side by side, deceiving, joyful smiles plastered on their faces as they walked with the flow of the crowd. The brunette woman had an iron-clamped grip around the man's waist, giving him a hard squeeze every time she bumped into an unidentifiable shapeless being, paranoia eating her up hungrily. That and her badly sprained ankle burdened them both. The countdown grew louder, the minutes ticking from double digits into a single one. _

_"Don't worry," the dark-haired man whispered into her ear as she painfully gripped his side. He winced slightly; her grip was firm. "We'll get there in time." _

_"Not at this pace we won't," she hissed, flexing her empty fist angrily. "The whole city of New York will be in ruins unless we get there in nine minutes and thirty-five seconds and counting," she spoke, not sparing a glance at the ticking time bomb. At this they sped up, synchronizing their movements as they jostled their way forward, the masses of people growing thicker by each few feet. "Trying to save lives, yet we're trapped in pedestrian freaking traffic," the woman growled, her voice hardly audible above all the excited chatter. They were eventually forced to stop, the mass too thick to break without causing a riot. The woman angrily blew her bangs out of her face, already frustrated. "Now what?" _

_"Um, excuse me, people of New York." To her surprise, the hesitant voice came from the very man who she clutched on helplessly. She glanced at him and he stared back, the crowd quieting slightly as they watched the couple, mainly the man. He took a deep breath, shooting the woman an undecipherable look as he turned his gaze to the crowd. _

_"I plan to marry this woman right here," he pulled her closer to his body his grin wide," today. I want the whole world to see." The crowd grew silent, their eyes on the brunette who flushed brightly. _

_Without a word, the crowd began to part, a few feet that grew inch by inch. He smiled gratefully, snatching the woman up bridal-style as she let out a yelp. _

_"Thank you," he said, the gratitude obvious in his voice. He took care not to bang her right foot on any lollygaggers until he reached a wide berth of an opening. He glanced back, the crowd already forgetting him as the loud timer chimed, a minute less than what it had been. Smirking, he continued on his way, the crowd less pact together as they entered Times Square. "You're welcome," he proudly responded to her rolling of the eyes. _

_"Tell that to the city of New York if we get there in time," she muttered. "And you can put me down now." He did, ever so gently. She straightened her shirt, taking in their surroundings quickly. "There." She narrowed her gaze, staring straight at a camouflaged building with reflecting windows that shone brightly, showing the New Years spirit of New York. _

_They made their way over as quickly as possible, her hobbling, him striding. They made it to the door as the clock ticked once more, loudly claiming that their time was running out. The man, whose name is Zachary Goode, jerked the handle, to no avail. He threw his weight against the door with a grunt, coming away with a bruised shoulder and unmoving door. _

_"Allow me," the woman, who was often referred to as the Chameleon, piped up. She snatched an elegant looking hair accessory from her bun, not caring as it tumbled to her shoulders. She pressed her thumb against the slightly bulging end and pointed it at the crack of the doors. A red laser light beeped from the device, smoke rising from where it landed. She grinned as she watched the metal latch melt away, suddenly grateful that her nerdy friend Liz had begged her to take it. The doors released an audible sigh as the latch disappeared almost completely, nothing but a dribble of metal and glass. "We're in," she muttered. She risked a glance at her comrade, who was staring at her weapon with longing. _

_"I have got to get me one of those," he confided. _

_The layout already memorized, they made their way to the elevators, keeping close to the small shadows to avoid the cameras. They were lucky; the elevators hadn't shut off, were still working their course. Of course, they were on a government-funded mission, but if word got out that terrorists had managed to infiltrate the country, they would be up to their necks in shit. Nevertheless, they knew scaling the stairs was no option, not with the Chameleon's hurt ankle. It was a long way up so they decidedly "disabled" the video camera, sitting on the clean, tiled floor as they made their way up. _

_"So we get to the roof….and then what?" she asked, frustrated. She hated the fact that they had to slow down because she had gotten careless._

_"And we follow through with the plan," he replied without hesitation. He gripped her hand, a lop-sided smile on his lips. "Don't worry; you'll get home to your family. I'll make sure of it." She frowned. _

_"You mean we both will." He avoided her gaze. "Wait… you plan on giving your life for this mission?" she huffed. "Don't you even think about staying behind, Zachary. We're both getting out of here. Alive."_

_He sighed, not surprised by her stubbornness. "Fine. But promise me, if you have to leave me behind, do it. I won't take it personally." _

_She rolled her eyes but said nothing. When the elevator hit the 309th floor, a thought dawned on her. She bit her lip, not knowing if she wanted to know the answer, but decided to ask anyways. _

_"What was that stunt all about?" He looked at her, confused. "You know what I'm talking about, Zach. The whole 'I'm going to marry her!' thing. A bluff?" He opened his mouth to reply but the elevator cut him off; they had reached the 310th floor. They stood, prepared for any obstacles, but saw none. _

_"Come on," he said instead. He offered her his arm but she shook her head, insisting she'd catch up to him. He strode down the eerily lit hall, making a sharp left towards the roof. He quickly disabled the emergency alarm, the Chameleon catching up to him. He held the door as they took a short flight of concrete stairs up. _

_On the rooftop, the air was thinner and the lights hardly reached them, disorienting them slightly. Gathering their bearings, they reached the end, a foot of barrier stopping them from falling over. They reached the neighboring skyscraper that was a few floors shorter and seemed awfully close, as if they'd purposely been built knitted together. They were a few buildings down from the isolated flagpole that held the bomb. The glowing, Waterford Crystal ball that would descend in just minutes and blow up the entire city of NYC. _

_Standing on the tallest building, the spy felt the air in her lungs was sucker-punched out; just how were they going to make it in 5 minutes and 22 seconds? They couldn't; it just wasn't possible. They had failed, and for the next 5 minutes and 17 seconds, they would sit and watch as America's prosperous city was blown to smithereens. _

_"Chameleon?" The look on her face must have shown her thoughts as she turned to look at him. With his wild hair and the fierce look in his eyes, it was no question why his codename was Wolf. He was an animal when it came to missions and when he bit down, failure was not an option. "We have a mission," he said slowly, "let's not get discouraged, now." She nodded wearily. She was in no mood to argue. _

_His eyes scanned their surroundings; they were hundreds of feet above people and yet they could feel the city come alive as the minutes ticked down. "I'm going to get as close as I can to the objective," he murmured, ideas fluttering through his head as he forced himself to stay calm. He sighed, knowing his next words would not go without controversy. "The angle's all wrong, though. I'm going to have to infiltrate the building myself." He braced himself for cutting words, but was met with silence. _

_She smiled sadly at him. "Even if I said no, I wouldn't be able to stop you." Her gaze fell to the glowing city below them, the wind ruffling her short hair. "Besides, isn't this what we were trained to do? Risk our lives for the greater good?" When she looked at him, her gaze was unyielding. _

_He nodded at her. "For the greater good." With that, he was gone; he was never good at goodbyes. With ease, he managed to hop to the next building. However, the next one was harder; its berth was almost twenty feet in width. _

_It was then, as he hurried to take out his rappel from his pack that the Chameleon, Cameron Morgan, realized she could not just let him go. Not after everything they went through to get here. Mustering her courage and strength, she planted both feet on top of the cement barrier and readied her stance before jumping. _

_The miniscule second of being airborne was ruined when she landed on the roof, _hard. _She stumbled before falling, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Fortunately, he hadn't seen her; he was already on the next building, his grappling hook in its place as he marched forward. _

_As she limped her way to the other side, she quickly took out her own rappelling cord and hook. She muttered to herself, calculating the time left before the ball would begin its decent. If she hurried, she'd be able to catch him before he jumped. And with that new resolve in mind she threw her hook at a stable looking square that jutted from the top. Looking down, she realized she had miscalculated the jump. Below her, she could just make out four lanes of traffic; her palms began to sweat as she readied herself, knowing that she would end the year with heavy rope burn. But even with a large leap, her injured ankle gave her a disadvantage as she slammed into the side of the building, her left foot absorbing the impact. _

_Pain spread like fire throughout her body as she nearly lost her grip, struggling to keep her grasp and regain composure. She had slipped a few feet, leaving her hands burning, along with her leg that stung, still vibrating from the blow. Resolved to staying calm, she slowly pulled herself up, her no-slip grip shoes helping her greatly. Managing to claw her way back up, she gasped for air as she made it to solid footing. Her hands shook, but not with fear; adrenaline coursed through her veins as she struggled to her feet, already moving on to the next obstacle. Up ahead, she could see her boyfriend fiddling with something in his hands on the next structure. _

_She ignored her throbbing hands as she tossed the hook, once, twice, in order to secure it. The gap was just as large as the last one. Fortunately, though, this building was less modern, built from bricks and mortar. Muttering profanities, she steadied herself on the ledge, glad for the shadows that hid her from the people hundreds of feet below. The buildings had gradually shortened, now at about 250 floors or so. She noted the window straight ahead; if she didn't avoid it, she would end up crashing, causing more of a commotion than necessary. Instead, she planned on landing just above it, which would put her five feet from the rooftop. _

_Coiling her muscles, centering her gravity, she leaped forward. While in the air, she adjusted her grip, stealing a few feet just as she hit the building. Again, her left leg took the brunt of it, shocks of pain shuddering through her body. She couldn't help but groan from the ache and exhaustion as she made her way up, throwing herself onto the roof with such force it knocked the air from her lungs out. She gasped, sweating, not believing she had just flung herself across three buildings. All in two minutes. _

_"We're down to the last three minutes of 2011, people of New York!" she heard a booming voice announce. "Shit," she whispered, compelling her worn out body to her feet. She spotted Zach already at the edge of the building, a firearm-type weapon in his grasp. _

_She limped her way over to him, calling out. But he couldn't hear her; the bustling was growing louder as the time ticked down. She was afraid that if she got too close, she might frighten him, resulting in his death. So she stood ten feet back, trying to gauge his next move. He'd been staring down at the crowd, timing his actions to the very second. She saw that the thing in his arm was oddly shape: the muzzle square and its handle long and lean. _

_It was then that things went bad. _Very, very bad.

_He turned his gaze in the general direction of where he'd left Cammie; but unable to spot her, he kept turning his gaze until he did- just a few feet behind him. He yelped in surprise- anyone would, really. But then he took a step back into midair, where he fell back disappearing from her view. _

_"ZACH!" Her throat burned, her ankle screamed in agony as she sprinted forward. Without thinking, she tossed her grappling hook over the side, grabbing hold of its end. She would have fallen over if it weren't for the short ledge that she slammed into, an overbearing weight threatening to pull her over. _

_"ZACH!" she screeched. She braced her feet against the prop, her muscles straining with the effort. "Zach, hang on!" For all she knew, he had already fallen to his death, her hook grabbing hold of a dent in the side of the building. But his faint reply proved her pessimistic-self wrong; he was alive and hanging on. _

_"Cam?" he called. "Whatever you do, please don't let go," he groaned_. How can he laugh at a time like this?_ she asked herself, incredulous. _

_"Then get your ass up here, Goode!" she grunted. Her energy had been nearly all spent on scaling the buildings, she couldn't hold on for much longer. With each tug, she felt herself getting closer to falling over. When he was close enough to touch, she had to resist the urge to grab him; she was the only thing holding him back from a very public death. He clawed at the ledge, hurling himself over with a grunt. Cammie fell back with a cry of relief, hugging him madly. _

_"I thought you were dead," she breathed. "Oh god, it would've been all my fault. Oh god, oh god, oh god," she gasped as he lay there, heaving. It was then that she noticed the weapon around his shoulders. It was seeing the strap and the weapon that reminded her of where they were and what they were doing. _

_"The mission." He stared at her, confused. "The mission! Get up or else everyone in New York is going to die!" she ordered. She hauled him to his feet despite her groaning muscles, her eyes going wide as the announcement was made. _

_"Two minutse left to go, folks!" the announcer declared. _

_"Zach what's the plan?" she urged. She noted he was still out of it. _

_"The plan," he repeated. His eyes widened. "The plan!" Quickly, he readjusted the firearm, positioning it as he spoke. "I'm going to aim this right at behind the Toshiba ad. From there, I'll just have to count my lucky stars I don't get caught on camera, and disable the objective with this." He pulled out a wickedly sharp pole of metal from a hidden compartment in the weapon. "Jonas said it should stop the four ton ball from exploding if I jab it right under. Since the bomb is within it, I'll have to break my way in, disarm it and move out. Boss said if security takes me in, he'd get me right out, so no need to fret over legal issues."_

_"Yes," Cammie spoke suddenly. He glanced at her quizzically. "Yes, I'll marry you, Zach Goode." He looked taken aback. Before he could speak, she planted a hard kiss on his lips, putting as much strength into it as she could. "So come back to me," she whispered, resting her forehead on his, "please." He nodded, unsure of what to say. "Oh, and wear this," she said off-handedly, handing him a black-ski mask with holes for his eyes. _

_"But I'll look like a thug," he protested. She shrugged. _

_"It's either surgery or this. Your move, Goode." He sighed. _

_"I knew you loved this handsome face of mine," he muttered, slipping it on as she bit her lip; time was running out. _

_"You have to go," she murmured. He nodded, his face unrecognizable as the minute countdown started, facing the scene slightly above them. She held her breath as he shot and aimed, hitting the back of the ad, where the hook sunk in its teeth. His was the high-tech kind; easily tugging him forward as he rappelled himself towards their mission. She watched as his black-clad form was an odd spot as he touched the building, the bright colors making him more obvious. _

_When the screams started, she knew what she had to do. Hobbling her way to the edge of where she'd came from, she hooked her clasp against a metal grate, scaling the side with caution until she met the window she'd been so careful _not _to break as she lowered herself, imploding the window with both legs, sending the shards inwards. Once inside, she gathered her rope and hook and went off in search of an elevator, whistling to herself as she shot down any recording devices. _

_Once she reached the outside, she knew they'd succeeded; the city was still intact and the people were furious. They had believed it was all a malfunction and they'd been ripped off of a spectacular ending to a spectacular year. The fireworks were going off and no doubt reporters were all over it, trying to find the real cause of the distress. _

_She took care of keeping close to the edge. It'd be dangerous if she got caught up in a riot. She slipped off the busy avenue onto a somewhat quieter street, where the crowds were smaller and confused instead of angry. As she walked- or more accurately, staggered, she had the eerie sense she was being followed. She risked a glance back, finding a window-tinted, black Civic stalking her. The roads weren't as jammed packed, but she knew that she had to get away. But how? She was injured, drained, and mentally exhausted. But she was never one to give in. If it was the Circle, she wouldn't go down without a fight. _

_Just as she opened her mouth to scream, the window rolled down and a familiar face grinned back at her. It took her mind a moment to register the green eyes, brown, wild hair and trademark smirk. _

_"Fancy meeting you here," she huffed, hobbling to the car door. He got out, much to some protest from the vehicle, and wrapped his arms around her. _

_"Glad to see you again, Chameleon," he spoke sweetly into her ear. Her body stayed tense, her muscles still on edge. _

_"So it's over, then?" she whispered. _

_"Yeah." That one word was enough; she felt tears pool her eyes, her body going limp, unable to uphold her weight. Every part of her hurt: hands, face, legs, arms, shoulders, you name it, it ached. Luckily, her fiancé was there to support her, explaining that the car was government-based and they'd managed to get one in Times Square at the last minute. He helped her into the car, where she was greet by two men in the driver's and the passenger's seat. She barely managed a nod before her eyes fluttered closed, feeling the warmth of the only man she could trust to fall asleep in front of, and know she's safe. _

_Finally. _

With this memory jostled in her mind, Cameron Morgan's eyes fluttered open. The memory of that day was a tough one to relive. And yet it had one of the happiest outcomes she could have imagined.

"Zach," she croaked. The pressure on her hand couldn't have been anyone else. There was some ruffling as he came into her view, his green eyes bloodshot but happy.

"Cammie," he responded, his eyes slightly watery. "Oh thank god. See, I told the doctor you'd make a full recovery. No damage, at least nothing permanent." He grinned, genuinely happy. She returned the smile.

"I remember," she sighed. She felt exhausted just by speaking.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Remember what?"

She fought to keep her eyes open. "The day I said yes…" It took him a moment to realize the meaning of her words. Once he did, though, he chuckled to himself.

"Oh Cameron," he hummed, "only you would revel in such a painfully wonderful memory while unconscious." He kissed her knuckles sweetly, lulling her back to sleep.

And sleep she did. Blissful, drugged, sleep.

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A/N::: Extra long to apologize. Did it make sense? I don't even know if it corresponds with the rest of the story... hehe

Review pleasee


	10. Jeopardize

A/N::: So... this has been sitting in my flash drive for quite sometime, just needed some editing. This is to get the last chapter's drama out of the way and add onto the "intense" plot (note: sarcasm)

Disclaimer::: Don't own the series (THAT I WANT TO FINISH READING SO I CAN CRY OVER THE ENDING IN PEACE).

By the way, I uploaded a one-shot a while back. You should check it out ;)

* * *

Ch. 10

Jeopardize;

To put somebody or something at risk of being lost, harmed, killed, or destroyed

When I came to, my senses failed me right away. The room was spinning madly; my vision was blurred, my sense of smell was lacking. My mouth felt slacked from medication, and any sense of touch was numbed. But instead of struggling and flailing, I relaxed my muscles and lay back, counting to 50 before opening my eyes again.

The room was bright and sharp; the strong scent of the vase of flowers beside me was overwhelming; the bed sheets beneath my body felt scratchy and used; and yet I managed a weak grin, conquering the muddled reality I had felt seconds ago.

"I'm back," I rasp, breaking into a coughing fit that rattled my aching rib cage. "Ow," I whimper, referring my heavily bandaged abdomen, "I must've been a cursing sailor after getting this one." I wince, realizing that Zach and I were not alone in the room; Dee Dee and Josh stood side by side at the foot of me bed, clutching each other as they traded looks. "Not that I've been shot at before," I add weakly. I glance at Zach for help, but he doesn't seem to notice, instead looking relieved at my consciousness.

"Oh man, Cam," he breathed, "you would not believe how many times you were in and out of it. I lost count after ten; you would mutter something and your eyes would flutter and then you were out like a light." His voice was light and teasing, but his white-knuckled grip on my hand told me the truth; he had actually been worried. I shot him a skeptical look, which translated to "I've had bullets hit me in worse places" which I doubt eased his mind.

"I don't recall any of that," I admit sheepishly; at least that's what I was going for, with the guest in the rooms and all. God, it's so hard to pretend after waking up from a temporary coma. "How many days have I been out for?"

"Six nights, five days," Zach answers, oddly specific. The look in his eyes softens. "The kids miss you, hon. We all did." I smile at him apologetically, opening my mouth to apologize, but he stops me with his Zach Look. Yes, the one that jumps rope with his This Is My Nonverbal Warning look, and his Don't Even Think About What You're Going to Say look, which is quite hard to pull off, but he manages it.

"Well, I'm back now," I say firmly, pressing the remote control to position myself better, ready to face my two guests head on. "Tell me all the gory details of the night I got shot." I wait for Zach to respond, but he doesn't. Instead, he avoids my gaze, staring hard at an invisible piece of lint by my legs.

"Actually Cam, Zach wasn't there when it happened." At this, I took a real good look at the couple across from me; and gawked at what I saw. I did not see the shining, madly in love couple that I'd seen a week ago; instead, I saw people who resembled them in a vague way, but lacked any facial expressions I'd come to relate to them.

A woman who had Dee Dee's features, but lacked the warmth that I had always related to her stood across from me, her eyes serious and without laughter. Her face, which was probably worse less than a week ago, had stitches running across the left side of her face to the bridge of her nose, similar to getting backhanded with a gun (trust me, I know). They would leave an ugly scar, but somehow I doubted it would take away from the beauty she held.

And the man she stood next to looked as if he'd been slugged hard in the face one too many times. His lip had a deep split running through it, his right eyes was turning yellow, a bruise that made me even wince. His left arm was in a sling that he held precariously by his side. His nose seemed slightly crooked, which led me to believe he'd broken it. His sapphire blue eyes that I had always related to naïveté and my own recklessness were now calm and steady, staring back at me, unflinchingly.

I couldn't fight back the Cheshire grin that broke my features. "Oh, man," I chuckle, "you guys look like _shit_." Zach's eyes widen at my words, and they stare at me in disbelief. "I mean, have you looked at yourselves recently? You look worse than I do after a whole day of having the twins all to myself. To think you guys would have epic battle scars, why I'll be damned." I laugh, ignoring the sunburst of pain that restrains my movement. Soon enough they join me, because I know that I look worse than they do combined. Even Zach fought back a smile, glancing as the high school sweethearts as they finally relaxed their tensed exteriors, letting out guffaws as they fought back to bite back a comment.

"Ok, ok, now that we've gotten rid of the tension, we should really go over what happened," I say after we fall into comfortable silence. "Sit down," I suggest, gesturing to the pair of chairs on my left. "Please," I add, after they hesitate. They do, and I let some of the pressure on my chest ease, knowing that the hole in my memory will soon be filled.

"Well, I guess we should clear the huddled white elephant in the room," Dee Dee murmurs, glancing at Zach and I. We share a look before focusing our attention on her and her movements. She squirms under our bemused gazes, taking in a breath before saying, in a confident, clear manner, "We know that you both work for the CIA as field agents, and that you're part of the special group that has been trained from the day you could understand what you'll be doing with your lives and the risks." We say nothing as her gaze shifts between us, unnerved. "To be specific," she rambles, "you went to a school for spies," at this she looks at me, and then to Zach she says "and you… Zach, I know how you've become what you are today. I'm sorry." Miraculously, Zach's gaze is even and amused, despite the fact that a well kept secret of his was just spoken. I shift my hand to feel for his pulse, which is a little quicker than normal, but nothing too alarmingly.

"And just where did you hear all of that?" His voice loses the humorous tone it usually holds when talking to civilians; his eyes have become cold and professional.

She sighs, gathering her thoughts before responding. "I didn't hear about it; I discovered it." I swear that I could've heard her wrong. Did she just admit to figuring out one of the most vital secrets of our country, and knowing our true identities? Did she really just willingly_ put her head on a platter? _

I assume the same air of professionalism as Zach, stating coldly "So you realize that you've just admitted to knowing something we kill for to keep secret, also knowing that we're very good at our jobs, including cleaning up messes, without fail." I watch as she shrinks back, her husband moving forward, as if he could possibly shield her from our ruthlessness.

"Dee Dee didn't ask for this," he says angrily, sensing the change. "She's already been sworn to secrecy to the CIA, who's taken every precaution to cover up any tracks she might have left behind. If it makes you feel better, there's always someone watching us, an agent of some kind to keep us _in check." _He says the last words with such venom; it's hard to believe he hadn't heard the words before.

"Feel better?" Zach repeats, incredulous. "We're supposed to feel better knowing that despite all of that, you still managed to become targets? For all we know, the agent on duty to watch you could be _dead _and we're supposed to feel better?" he sneers, unable to restrain the earlier effects of Dee Dee's words. "This is why civilians shouldn't play with things they know nothing about. People just end up being dead or shot." The words were a direct implication to my wound, and I can't help but shoot him a look of wariness.

"We both know that my wound is no one's fault but my own," I say softly, although my fuzzy brain is none too reliable. I squeeze his hand hard, to pull him back towards me and into his seat instead of looming over them and me. After he does, he directs his smoldering gaze towards the window before getting up and walking over to it, burying his clenched fists into his pockets.

"I didn't know," a meek voice whispers. I shift my gaze back to the upset couple, who are witnessing a side of Zach which many people, after seeing it, do not live to tell of it. "I didn't know that trying to find you two would create such a mess of the lives of the people I care about." A pang of guilt strikes my heart as Dee Dee fights back tears. "I only wanted to know that you two were okay. That you had just ignored our wedding invitation, instead of something worse. I knew there was something different about you, all of you, and somehow that led me to a caved in, narrow path that was unforgiving." She swipes at tears that fell, and instead of begging eyes, her gaze was steady and firm, her blue eyes clear as she looked at me. "I'm sorry about what happened that night. But I'm not sorry that I found out, or that it's led us to you two." I blink, feeling too entirely, uncomfortably confused.

Unable to fight back my curiosity, I found myself questioning her motives and why she felt she needed to find us. She tells me how her parents were killed by terrorists during a suicide bombing years ago, a few years after we had all graduated. She sniffles and smiles, admitting she caught sight of Zach and me at the scene. I nod in confirmation as she continues; there was no point in lying now.

"I thought I was going crazy. And I decided I hated _not knowing. _I hated not knowing what was going on in the world and where tensions were rising. Maybe if I had, I would've told my parents to stay far away from any historic landmarks, specifically the highly populated ones. Maybe I could've-"

"No," I cut her off, "you couldn't have known. None us had any idea there was an organized attack, especially on Thanksgiving. You shouldn't blame yourself, not even an ounce." I sigh as a piece of hair falls in my face, and suddenly Zach's there beside me, brushing it away, his gaze no longer fierce.

"I'm sorry about your parents," he says quietly, "but you had no right going off and finding everything about our lives."

"I hadn't intended to," she admits, "but one thing led to another and in the end it was all timing and sources. Honestly, we hadn't known you two lived in this area. I was… floored when I found out. And I immediately destroyed every piece of information, and set ablaze the crumbs I followed to get to where I was." She hangs her head, her next words so weary, she could've been the one waking from a coma. "But it appears I was too late."

"Not entirely," I say carefully. "Someone from the inside might've tipped the enemy off. Tell me, the night off the attack, did your- our- assailant try to kidnap you or kill you?" I watch as they both muster themselves up, prepared to give me what I need.

"Kidnap us, most definitely," Josh replies confidently. "There was a sketchy van and everything waiting." He glances at his wife who reminds me suddenly of a small, fragile bird whose wings had been broken. "They seemed to know we weren't anything special; there were only three men tops. By the time you arrived, our spotter had come down and was taking care of one of the guys. The other two took us on individually, which is how we acquired, ahem, 'epic battle scars'." He shot me a loose smile that I returned. "It went by so fast… and then you were screaming our names, and they started to panic; that's when the guns came out. God, to have a gun pointed right at you, staring down the barrel…" He shuddered violently, and I couldn't help but be sympathetic; everyone's first time is traumatizing. "And then you rounded the corner and he just turned and _fired." _His voice cracks on the last word, and he ducks his head to hide the tears that we all know are there. "'How could he just shoot?' is what I asked myself. Is that normal? He could've _killed _you and gotten away with it. You were on the ground and there was blood everywhere, _your blood." _He chokes on a sob, covering his mouth with his fist.

"I screamed your name," Dee Dee continues, her whisper a loud echo in the silence. "You responded, reaching for us from your splayed form. You called our names, and that vile man pointed his gun at you again and I just- I just reacted and shoved him as hard as I could. I thought he'd dropped his gun so I turned to scream at you to get up, to just get up and stop bleeding and be fine but…you didn't." A tear slipped from her eye, her gaze so filled with remorse, my own eyes were moist with memories I did not remember. "He still had the gun and gave me this-" she traced the stitches on her face "-for pushing him. That's when Zach showed up and saved the day." She sniffled, a laugh edging into her words. "The first thing he saw was you- and god, I'd never want to be the target of his anger. He pulled out a gun and shot the one I was struggling with. The driver was dead within seconds, and they'd all been thrown into the back of the van. The other two were dead at the hands of our spotter. Someone called 911, but I guess it was a special line because they didn't show up in ambulances and cop cars. They hauled us all away and from what I gathered on the news, made it look like a gang shootout. All the shops had been closed, and the workers of the café had been given hush money. From there, it's just boring hospital stuff and dealing with Zach's, ah, broodiness, one might say." She shot him a joking smile.

I didn't wait for his response, instead sitting back and closing my eyes to digest it all. In the end, I proved to be useless and just another patient for Chief to pay the bills for. I guess I was just off my game, not fully ready to get back in the field. But then a paling thought occurred; What if I was never ready?

"You saved their lives." That was Zach and his broody self.

"Did I?" I respond, "Because it seems as though I was just another useless victim, getting shot and all."

"They would've taken us," Josh pipes in, no longer choking on fear.

"Yeah, if Zach hadn't shown up. I ended up lying in the street, bleeding out."

"No, don't you get it Cam? You're screaming and hollering distracted them and made them panic. You threw them off enough for me to get there and finish what you started. If it hadn't been for you, they would've been gone by the time I got there. _You _saved them, not me." I heave a sigh, the reality of it all too heavy to carry by myself.

"Then it's only fair to say that you saved my life as well, and I'll be forever grateful." I look at Dee Dee and Josh and make sure they understand. "Both of you," I add before they can say anything else.

A comfortable silence settles, now that everything is out in the open. Zach slumps in his chair, now at ease with our company.

"So I guess this means we'll forever be in each other's lives, huh?" Before they get a chance to respond to Zach's inquiry, a sudden jiggle of the door handle directs our attention to the door where inaudible shouts could be heard.

"Oh, no," I sigh, knowing the familiar authority of the voice.

"Baxters," Zach concludes. "Should I let them in?"

"Only if they have Abby and Matt. Otherwise they can go be worrywarts over someone else." Zach was already slipping out the door, the loud barks of voices easing in the room, filling it with noise before he closed it behind him.

"I figure you know about them as well?" I ask.

Dee Dee nods. "Along with Macey McHenry and Elizabeth Sutton, alumni of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women."

I don't bother holding back a grin. "Then welcome to our world."

* * *

So...yeah. Any ideas on where to go next?


End file.
